Hearts Of Calm
by Haleine Delail
Summary: The TARDIS crash lands on a mysterious, hostile planet with the Tenth Doctor and Martha Jones inside. The crash seems to cause an affliction for both human and Time Lord, that is both frustrating and deadly. Staying calm, alive, and together all at once could prove impossible, but they must fight to do so... in captivity, in the dark, with their death warrants already written.
1. Prologue

**Well, I'm back! This story is going to be a good one, I can feel it!**

 **It picks up a few weeks after "An Oxbow In Time," leaves off. If you did not read "Oxbow," it's not really necessary to do so - this will stand alone. The only thing you need to know is that Martha Jones and the Doctor are now a couple, and Donna Noble has a new boyfriend named Colin, who is Martha's cousin. And, this prologue will catch you up on a few necessary details.**

 **Disclaimer: I know virtually nothing about the health-care systems in Europe, only that they are more "socialized" than in the U.S. Therefore, I don't know anything about how a citizen of the EU (Britain in 2008, y'all) might go about getting a prescription filled in another country in the EU. I'm assuming it wouldn't be super-easy.**

 **And that's all I have to say about my new story. I'm really excited to write it! So, let's get into it, eh? _Allons-y!_**

* * *

PROLOGUE

Martha Jones walked through the door of the TARDIS, and sauntered up the ramp toward the console. "Well, that was unbelievably satisfying to watch," she said. "Is it wrong for me to say that? It doesn't feel wrong."

The Doctor had walked in behind her, and smirked as he locked the door. "No, it's not wrong."

"Because you feel the same way, right?" she asked, with a big, expectant smile. "Seeing that wanker have to face his comeuppance… I mean, you've hopped all over this great old universe and dealt with some serious scum. But how often have you, Doctor, _actually_ got to see someone like him get his arse handed to him by precisely the right people?"

He walked up the ramp toward her. He rubbed his palm across his very striking expanse of five-o'-clock-shadow in contemplation, smiled and said, "Yeah, yeah, I guess you're right. It was kind of sweet not to have to do it myself."

"Right?" she practically shrieked, then she laughed out loud. "Oh, wow. Just this once, everything went the way it was supposed to, eh? I can't believe he got sentenced to _eight years_ in prison, just for threatening me!"

"It wasn't the threat, it was the proof of intent to carry through, that his so-called colleagues produced. But I have to say, I thought he'd get more time for the dual kidnapping and coercion," he said, tugging at the hair on the back of his head. "But it's all right, because leading his troupe at impersonating an official galactic law-enforcement agency… _that_ was the biggie!"

"For a grand total of what?"

"Twenty-eight galactic years incarceration," the Doctor said. "In your time, that's about… oh, fifty years or so."

"What's his lifespan like?"

"About twice yours," he said.

"So his sentence will still make a dent!"

"Yes, but I reckon it's having been stripped of his rank that will hurt most of all," he said, finishing with an arms-crossed pose, that signified he was content with this outcome.

"Oh, damn it," she said, not having heard his final comment at all. She was frowning, pulling her left hand loose from the pocket of her jeans. When she extracted her hand, she showed the Doctor a small, flat plastic packet. "I've still got these."

"Oh, no," he said. "How could she forget something like that?"

"This is on me. I feel like _she_ had other priorities when they left, don't you?"

The _she_ to whom they were referring was their close friend and companion Donna Noble, who had, only about twelve hours before, stepped off the TARDIS with her new boyfriend Colin, ready to begin a much-needed couple's holiday.

However, four weeks prior, Donna had tried to save the planet (and the Doctor) by throwing herself into a time portal, which had resulted in her being lost in the Vortex for twenty-four hours or so, pounded on all sides by unrelenting, unfiltered time energy. Fortunately, the Doctor and Colin had been able to work together to extract her. But _un_ fortunately, travelling through the Vortex without a capsule had messed with Donna's vitals something awful. Martha had had to spend the subsequent month trying to keep Donna's blood pressure steady, and helping her learn how to deal with the occasional seizure.

As the electrical activity in her brain, stimulated by the Vortex, slowly normalized and the anti-convulsant medication began to take effect, the seizures had abated. But they had given way to nauseating migraine headaches. The good news was, by then, Donna's blood pressure was no longer troughing and spiking unpredictably, but had levelled out. It was still too high for Martha's comfort and left Donna at slight risk for heart attack, but it was nothing that couldn't be treated with medication. Donna had no family history of hypertension that she knew of, so Martha was still in hopes that her blood pressure would naturally come down over time, and her need for meds would be temporary.

The previous day, Martha had given Donna clearance to resume all activities, with caution. That included planet-hopping with the Doctor, her usual daily walk/jog on the treadmill, and whatever it was that she and Colin had in mind for their five-day holiday at a resort on the beaches of Portugal.

"Well, I'm ginger, so I burn really easily," Donna had lilted in the exam room, after being green-lighted. "So I guess we'll be staying in the hotel room a lot. Shame, that."

Martha had smiled. "Okay. Just be aware of your body."

"Oh, I plan to be."

"No, I mean, how it's functioning," Martha corrected, rolling her eyes. "If you feel your heart-rate up, and nausea at the same time, you've got to put on the brakes. No matter what you're doing, Donna. I'm serious. And if you feel…"

"I know, pain in my left arm, I should lie down, and call you."

"Yes," Martha said. "None of this is what you might call _likely_ … I mean, I'm pretty confident that at this stage, you've got a fairly average case of hypertension and migraines, like a million other people out there. And I still think it's all artificial, and you'll eventually be free of it, but for now, it's still wise to keep in mind what the signs are."

"You worry too much," Donna complained.

"It's my _job_ to worry," Martha reminded her. "It's literally _what I do._ If I didn't worry, what would I be? Just a girl in scrubs drinking cold coffee in the break room."

"Very probably true."

"I'm a doctor, it's just the way things are. And, you, Ms. Noble, are a secretary… and a good one. So, think of yourself as a case file to be tracked and organised."

"Interesting analogy," Donna said, nodding.

"And _take your meds,_ " Martha told her. "They will keep your blood pressure regulated, as well as help prevent the migraines. One a day, same time each day."

With that, she walked over to the counter, and picked up a tiny cup with a pill in it, a cup of water, and a flat packet of medication, the latter of which she shoved in her pocket for the moment. She handed the pill and the water to Donna, who dutifully took it, then hopped off the table.

The two of them headed for the exam room door, exiting into the hallway.

"So, are you all packed up?" Martha asked, now switching into _friend_ mode.

"Yep, except for toiletries," Donna said. "Just been waiting for your go-ahead."

"Good," Martha told her, letting Donna lead her down the corridor toward her bedroom. "I've got to say, Donna, I'm kind of surprised you want to have this holiday in Portugal, of all places. I remember what you told me about that guy you met there…"

"I chose it specifically _because_ of that guy," Donna said. "I want to have a _good_ time there, and erase his stigma from my life! I like to think I'm finished with the parade of tosser boyfriends, and fiancés who collude with arachnids."

"I'd like to think so too," Martha agreed, having been regaled with half a dozen tales of Donna's being used and discarded by various specimens of human male scum.

"Colin represents a new chapter, and I want there to be nowhere I can't go – geographically, or mentally."

"I guess I can see that," Martha conceded.

And Martha _could_ see that Colin represented something truly new for Donna; Martha had one hundred-per-cent confidence in him as a good man, a scrupulous person, and someone who would never use, abuse, or in any way hurt her friend. And her trust came from the fact that he was her cousin, and a de-facto older brother to her.

"Okay, well," Martha said, as they stopped outside Donna's bedroom door. She'd turned to give her friend a hug. "I want to hear all about this resort when you get back."

Donna laughed. "I'll tell you about the food and the view. I plan on having nothing else safe for your ears."

* * *

And now, there Martha stood in the console room, with Donna's five-day supply of medication in her hand, having forgotten to actually hand it off to her, as they were saying goodbye.

"Wow, I am a _terrible_ doctor," Martha said, staring at the packet between her fingers.

"You're human," the Doctor argued, literally waving off the comment.

"Oi, what's that supposed to mean, Time Lord?"

"Just… you're fallible."

"And you're not?"

He sighed, exasperated. "You're an excellent doctor, we all make mistakes, their departure was hurried, and have I told you lately how beautiful you are?"

"Classy."

"Anyway, I suppose we'd better ring her."

"I suppose we'd better," Martha agreed. "We'll just leave a message, and hope she gets it."

The Doctor moved toward the console, and pulled up the TARDIS' phone directory on the screen. "Aw, she'll get it. She's always got her phone on her."

"She doesn't have it _on her_ right now, Doctor."

"How do you know?" asked, absently, pressing buttons.

"Because I'm pretty sure she doesn't have _anything_ … _on her_ right now, Doctor."

He looked up at her quickly, with a bit of a shocked "oh" expression. "W-wow, that was blunt."

With that, he pressed a final button, and they heard the sound of dialling, then the electronic buzz of a phone ringing.

To their surprise, after three rings, they heard Donna's voice chirp, "Well, _olà_ from Portugal, to the TARDIS crew!"

And then, in the background, they heard Colin's voice sound, "Hi, guys!"

Before she could stop herself, Martha said, "Wait, you had your phone _on you_?"

Donna sighed. "Only because the hotel bathrobes have pockets, and my mother called about half an hour ago."

"Oh," Martha remarked, surprised. "Does she know where you are?"

"Yes," Donna said, sighing again. "I told my granddad yesterday that I was going away with a new bloke, and forgot to ask him to keep it under wraps. D'you know what he asked me, Martha? He asked me if I knew how to use a _French Letter!_ "

Martha laughed out loud. "That's a beautiful story! For several reasons."

"I know, right?"

"A French Letter, what's that?" the Doctor whispered.

Martha stared at him for a long moment to see if there was any irony in the question. She detected none, so she asked, "Really?"

Before he could answer, Donna was off again. "Anyway, mum wants to know when she gets to meet Colin. I told her the twelfth of Never, but she didn't think that was funny. Little does she know, it wasn't a joke."

They could hear Colin chuckling in the background.

"We'll draw up a battle-plan for your mum later, but for now, we won't keep you," Martha said. "We're just ringing to tell you that I'm an idiot and forgot to actually _give you_ your little packet of meds."

"Oh! Blimey, I hadn't even noticed."

"You hadn't _noticed_?" the Doctor asked her, incredulous.

"Of course not," Donna said. "Do you think my blood pressure is the first thing on my mind right now?"

"No, but given what _is_ the first thing on your mind right now, perhaps your blood pressure _should_ be more of a priority!" he said, brashly.

"Oi, you!" Donna shouted. "I'll thank you to leave the scolding to my primary-care physician!"

"Your primary… really?" he whined.

"Yes, I've decided that just now," she said. "Now step off, Spaceman."

"Fine," he muttered. "Just remember, Earth Girl, the TARDIS answers distress calls, so if you're giving yourself a cardiac event of some sort, it's not _my_ fault if she appears in your hotel room at an… _inopportune_ moment."

"Duly noted, thanks," Donna said back, mock-annoyed. Then, "Where did you find them?"

Martha explained, "I shoved them in my pocket while we were finishing up in the exam room yesterday, and then… poof. Out of sight, out of mind. Luckily, though, I put the same jeans back on this morning and discovered them just a couple minutes ago whilst searching for a lip balm. We can bring them to you, or I can call in a prescription for them, if the resort has a chemist."

"Colin, does the resort have a chemist?" Donna asked, somewhat muffled. "Martha forgot to give me my pills."

"I dunno," they heard him say. "I can check on my phone… where did my trousers land?"

"Erm… over there, on the end of the credenza," Donna said to him.

Martha groaned inwardly.

"Colin's checking" Donna said to them.

It was about twenty seconds before they heard Colin's voice, faintly. "The resort does have a chemist, over on the north side."

"Great," Martha said. "Can you give me the number? I'll get it pushed through today, so you can have your pill tonight."

"Okay, thank you, Martha. Here's Colin," Donna said. To Colin, she said, "Martha needs the phone number."

Martha asked the Doctor, "Have you got a pen and paper?"

He produced one of each from a compartment on the console, and held them out to her.

With that, she repocketed the packet of pills absently, again, to free up one hand.

* * *

Martha called the chemist in Portugal, to find out how to have a prescription readied for a British citizen within the day. The process turned out to be _a lot_ more involved than she had thought. But she had promised Donna, so she persevered.

"Well, _that_ was a waste of three hours," Martha breathed, walking into the parlour where she knew the Doctor was relaxing with a book. "Why didn't we just drop off the packet at their hotel front desk? That way, they could come pick it up at their leisure, and we don't have to see either one of them in a hotel bathrobe. Oh, sure, _now_ I come up with the least-insane idea."

She sank down onto the sofa beside him.

"Point is, now she'll have what she needs, so as not to have a heart attack while canoodling your cousin on the Iberian Peninsula."

"She's just got a not-uncommon level of hypertension," Martha said. "The likelihood of heart attack in the next five days is negligible. The migraines are _really_ what will keep her from having a good time."

"Well, now she won't have to worry about that either," he said.

Martha was pensively silent for a few moments, before asking, "The TARDIS wouldn't _really_ just appear in their hotel room if it thought she was in distress, would it?"

"It would take a lot more than a migraine," he said. "Donna's life would have to be in jeopardy, but… yes, the TARDIS could do it."

"Wow, seriously?"

"The TARDIS carries an energy signature from all of her… _friends_. Me, most especially, but also you and Donna, Rose, Captain Jack… everyone who's ever travelled with me for any length of time. She probably already has a bit of Colin in her consciousness already. She's connected to you through it, whether you lot realise it or not. She can help keep you safe that way."

"I forget sometimes she's sentient," Martha mused.

"And, since one of her primary programming directives is answering distress signals…"

"I see!"

"Neat, eh?"

"Yeah," Martha agreed with a smile.

The Doctor then threw his book aside, stood up and turned toward her, holding out his hand. "Now, up you come."

"Why? I just sat down!"

"Because, Dr. Jones," he said. "I think we're alone now."

"We are," she sang, now giving up her hand.

"Our friends are off on their holiday, they're safe, they're happy," he said pulling her to her feet. "We have peace of mind, and the whole of the TARDIS to ourselves."

"You're acting like you've got something specific on your mind, Doctor."

* * *

 **A bit of sauciness to carry us into the next chapter... and into adventure! ;-)**

 **Let me know you're out there - leave a review with some thoughts. Thank you for reading!**


	2. Things Falling

**Please don't hate me for this chapter. :-D Just trying to make things exciting!**

* * *

THINGS FALLING

Martha Jones and the Doctor began their relationship by happenstance, in a hospital that went to the moon. Later that night, he "rescued" her from a family gathering that was going spectacularly badly, and took her on the open road for about a year. Together, they put out fires all over the universe, got captured, nearly killed in myriad ways, all the while remaining fierce friends, and (technically) nothing more. Desire and possibilities always seemed to be percolating beneath the surface, but the Doctor's fresh, raw, broken heart and resultant commitment-phobia put a wrench in things. Ultimately, Martha was forced to say, "I love you, goodbye."

But six months later, after Donna Noble came into the Doctor's life, circumstances threw the three of them into an adventure which forced to light an irritating truth: he was not happy without Martha.

And so, Martha and the Doctor began their _romantic_ relationship on Mallorca, while trying to flush out a body-hopping alien. They'd used the TARDIS' energy reserves to defeat the alien in such a way that required a several-week convalescent period for the vessel, and allowed a nice chunk of time for the new lovers to hide away on a Mediterranean isle, and discover one another. During this time, now that the fire walls were down, they burned through each night like cinders through parchment, unable to be together without combusting, and rarely spending any time apart. It was an idyll, she knew, the blazing-hot beginning of something that would, in due course, cool off and become more livable. But that eventuality was, they both hoped, a long while off, and their little honeymoon extended for a week or so into life "at home," in London, when the Mallorcan adventure came to a close.

And then, the reality of living with the Doctor reared its head, and the three of them (four, counting Colin) were tossed unceremoniously into a battle to prevent the imprisonment of the human race. This resulted in over three weeks weeks of Donna needing intense medical attention, so they'd been by her side either round-the-clock or on a constantly-on-call basis. Inevitably, everyone's sex life had to simmer and wait. The Doctor and Martha had a few good moments, but mostly, the period was punctuated by exhaustion. During the weeks when Donna was up and about, but still not clear for heart-pumping activities, they'd tried to _indulge_ , but wound up feeling too guilty to proceed.

And that's what made tonight so very lovely for them.

"Our friends are off on their holiday, they're safe, they're happy," the Doctor had said. "We have peace of mind, and the whole of the TARDIS to ourselves."

They walked through the bedroom door, and Martha fully expected to stop at the bed. But they bypassed it, and walked round to a door, hidden behind a little alcove in the corner.

"Ever wonder where this leads?" he asked her, placing his hand on the doorknob.

His bedroom was now _their_ bedroom, but because of the chaos preceding this night, they hadn't done much there except for sleep. The room was huge, and Martha had, of course, noticed the walls lined with bookshelves, the wardrobe, the staircase and loft, and the sunken "living room" area. But as for the room's finer points, she hadn't had occasion to think about them.

"No," she chuckled. "I never even knew it was here."

"Good," he said. "I haven't used it in years – centuries, really – and I've been saving it for… well, someone like you. And for a time when there wouldn't be any interruption."

"What is it?"

He smirked, but did not answer. Instead, he said, "I think you're a bit overdressed."

"Oh, you do, do you?" she asked.

"I do," he said, closing the space between them.

He snaked his hand inside the collar of the short black cardigan she was wearing. He peeled it back to reveal one perfect, sinewy brown shoulder, banded by a pink spaghetti strap. He hooked one finger through the strap and pulled it sideways, out of the way for his lips. He kissed and nipped his way across her skin, and a frisson ran down her whole body, from where his mouth touched her, swelling swiftly throughout, all the way to her toes. He reached the place where shoulder becomes arm, and began to move back the way he had come, planting kisses all the way across her shoulder, and then up her neck. When his tongue raked across her jugular, she moaned, and felt herself melt a bit. He took the opportunity then to work his other hand under the other side of her cardigan, and push it over her arms, and off.

From there, he got to his knees and tugged at her waistband gently, until the snap of her jeans came loose. He worked the zip down, then let his hands dive in between the denim and her skin, savouring the delicious curve of her hips and bum, as he pressed down on the garment, moving it toward her knees. She held onto his shoulder, and stepped out of her wedgie sandals, then allowed him to help her step out of her jeans. He left them there on the floor, then sat back on his heels and looked her over. She was now wearing a form-fitting pink camisole, and a pair of lacy white knickers. The tableau gave him a big surge of desire, and he couldn't help but give an audible, sensual sigh.

"Mmm," he said. "Much better."

"What about you?" she asked.

She watched him manoeuvre one foot forward and untie and discard one white Converse trainer and sock, then the other. Then he stood up and climbed out of his suit jacket. Martha loosened his tie, then added it to the growing pile of clothing on the floor. Next, she untucked and unbuttoned his white dress shirt, making sure to give each revealed inch a maddening lick. She heard, and felt, his breath hitch with each touch of her tongue, especially as she bent at the waist and went lower and lower.

But then, she stopped and helped him peel off the shirt, and he took her hand. They kicked through the laundry now heaped at their feet, and the Doctor opened the door.

They stepped, barefooted, onto what felt like heated rock. The temperature around them climbed to something pleasantly, leisurely warm, and they appeared to be in a cave. All around them, including now behind them (as the door seemed to disappear as soon as he closed it) was black stone. The light came from something like sun, pouring through a waterfall, which they stood behind.

"What is this?" she asked with wonder.

"Come on," he said, leading her by the hand to the right. They went into a dark (but not too dark) portion of the cave, and down what seemed to be perfect spiral stairs formed naturally. They came out into sunlight, onto a rock platform, that overlooked a lagoon. For maybe a couple of miles square, all around, there was shiny blue water bordered by black cliffs and evergreen trees. Down to the left, Martha could see a little pebble beach area, complete with a table and chairs, a towel rack, a small kitchen, a dock and a raft… and a wide, red lounging cushion for two.

"This is amazing," she breathed.

"Thanks," he said. "It's modelled after a favourite enclave of mine, in the Canadian Rockies. Only without the chill in the air."

She assumed the little shore was their destination, and the only way to travel was forward, across a wooden foot-bridge, half under the waterfall, and half not. She was irresistibly drawn forth into the gushing water, and soon found herself drenched from head-to-toe. The temperature was perfect, the opportunity was golden – she shook out her hair, and laughed, as she had always wanted to do this.

The Doctor watched her, and for him, the effect was dizzying. Martha was already an intoxicating creature. Her body already seemed to him to have been moulded from smooth liquid bronze that undulated torturously, even when she was still. She was already not wearing much, and now, what she _was_ wearing clung to her flesh like a second, transparent skin, and every inch of her was being pounded, then caressed, by water. He'd been with her in the shower, of course, and swimming in the Mediterranean, but _this_ was different. _This_ water was rough and insistent, and made him feel a bit the same way.

He too was now irresistibly drawn into the cascade, but for a completely different reason.

Her back was to him when he reached her, so he reached out and possessively took her by the waist, the feel of the thin, soaked fabric flush against the shape of her, it was a revelation. A blinding, desire-piquing revelation.

He found his hands powerfully compelled upwards, and when they closed over her breasts, he thought he might faint. The sensation was overwhelming… especially because she leaned back against him and moaned then, pressing her backside into an impatient bulge in his trousers.

When she felt it, she pressed harder, and he saw her smile. But then, she couldn't help but turn around and face him. And he couldn't help but devour her mouth with his own, plunging his tongue in, knocking her a bit off balance and forcing her up against the railing. Pressing against her with deep, lusty groan, he now sucked at her neck once again.

Her mouth was quite near his ear. "How long will it take to get down to that beach?" she asked, thinking of the large, inviting cushion for two, clearly not set up just for lounging.

"I'll never make it that far," he told her.

But before she could answer with her own idea that they make an excellent memory or two right there on the bridge, something maddening (and terrifying) happened.

A huge jolt of some sort knocked them off their feet.

"What the hell?" Martha shrieked, picking herself up to a sitting position. "Was that an earthquake?"

"No, we're still in space," the Doctor said, getting up on his knees, looking about. She now realised what he'd realised: the light from the "sun" in this replica Canadian hideaway was waffling. Fading a bit to dark, then coming back, fading, and returning. It was as though the TARDIS' energies were being placed elsewhere…

Another jostle overtook them, though, this time, they were already low, so they both grabbed onto the railing on the dry side of the bridge.

The waterfall quit gushing at that point, which caused the whole, huge, artificial corner of paradise, to fall eerily silent. The temperature also dropped significantly and it was obvious, the TARDIS was either slowly losing its faculties, or diverting resources.

That was when the gravity-boosters failed, and the TARDIS began to crash. They could feel it falling – the dizzying, stomach-turning sensation of being pulled, out-of-control, toward something. Down, down, at an unfathomable speed… They both held on to the bridge, and couldn't help but scream. The Cloister Bell rang insistently as the vessel headed for disaster, and all any of the sentient life aboard could do was hope against hope that _impact_ would come soon.

And, of course, it did, sooner rather than later. The noise was deafening, and the shock was unbelievable – later on, Martha thought about it, and felt surprised that they had survived. She hit her head on the railing, hard enough to cause her vision to darken momentarily, and she heard the Doctor give a loud grunt/cry of pain, as well. They were almost tossed into the lagoon below…

But when the commotion stopped, they were still on the bridge, only because they'd both had the presence of mind to grab on with both arms.

"Gravity boosters are working again," the Doctor said, standing up. "Thanks, old girl."

"But for how long?" Martha asked, allowing him to help her to her feet.

"Excellent question," he said. "I reckon we'd better…"

He was interrupted by a wince of pain from Martha. She was standing with her right hand clasped to her chest.

"What? What's wrong?" he asked.

"I feel a… tightening."

"A t…" he began. He also began to step toward her.

But then he collapsed. He fell to his knees, eyes wide with surprise and pain, and he, too, now clutched at his chest.

Something similar seemed to be happening to him, only it seemed to be incapacitating him a lot faster than Martha.

He fell forward, catching himself with one hand, and holding the other to his chest.

"Doctor!" she cried out, forgetting her own incident. "What's going on?"

"I… I…" he started.

"Is it your hearts?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Lie down."

He obliged, and went supine on the bridge, and tried to breathe normally. He closed his eyes, attempting to bring calm.

"Okay, don't worry," she said kneeling at his side. "I've treated a hundred heart attacks, I know exactly what to do, and I'm going to take care of you, all right?" She spoke to him as though she were speaking to someone rushed into A&E.

The Doctor held up two fingers, to remind her that his physiology was not as she was used to.

"I know, Doctor, but I've got to start somewhere," she said, and he nodded. "Except… damn it, no EKG, no meds, no IV… I'm sorry, but will you be okay here while I go get those things?"

He reached out and grabbed her hand. "No, wait."

"Wait?"

"Yes, wait," he managed to say. He held her hand, closed his eyes, and over the next minute or so, his breathing normalized, and the pain, tightness, and panic ebbed. "It's gone."

"It's gone? You're serious?"

"Yeah," he said, sitting up. "I'm fine now."

"Are you sure? That's mental!"

"Yeah, I'm sure. How about you?"

She paused to assess her physical state. "I think I'm fine. I mean, I don't feel the tightening anymore."

He got to his feet more quickly than Martha would have liked, and took her hand. "We've got to get to the console room," he said. "We need to work out where the hell we are."

They climbed back up through the dark rock grotto, and ended up in the little cavern behind where the waterfall had been. The Doctor reached out for one of the cave walls, and only a split second before his hand closed over it, did she see a doorknob. He opened it, ushered her through, and then stepped through himself.

Before he shut the door again, though, they saw all of the light in the Canadian lagoon room go completely out.

"She's shutting down," the Doctor said. "She was keeping that room lit just for us, but now, she has to conserve energy."

"For what?"

"I don't know yet," he said, sombrely.

Fortunately, the lights in the bedroom were still on, and the Doctor moved over toward the wardrobe, and readied to shed his soaking wet trousers and put on a fresh brown suit.

"I reckon the hallways are pitch dark, and freezing now," he said, beginning to change clothes.

She crossed to her dresser and extracted a dry pair of knickers and a bra, and set about changing out of her sopping-wet camisole and lacy underpants. "Well, that's not super-creepy."

"The TARDIS has emergency protocols, just like everything else," he said. "Just like your hospital. Just like your brain."

She opened the top drawer and grabbed the first shirt she saw – a long-sleeved purple v-neck, and pulled it over her head.

"So, first order of business is to work out where we've crashed," she said. "Then what?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "I'll know once we've worked out where we've crashed."

She looked about the room for a moment, then crossed back to the door through which they'd come, and picked up her jeans. "Okay, is there anything I can do to help?" she asked, pulling them on.

"Not yet," he said. "Just stay tuned for more info… and instructions, I suppose."

"Okay. I'm your first mate – what else am I here for?" she chirped, stepping back into her wedgie sandals.

"That, you are," he said, looking her over, and choosing a tie randomly from about twenty of them hanging inside the wardrobe door.

She found a hairbrush sitting on the night table on her side of the bed, and she sat down, and tried to untangle the damage done by the waterfall, and the subsequent crash.

By the time she was done, the Doctor was fully dressed.

He stood up and asked, "How about me? How's _my_ hair?"

"It's… wet," she said.

He mussed it with both hands. It now stood up almost everywhere. "Now?"

"Very you."

"Good. Ready?"

Without waiting for her to answer, he grabbed her hand, and headed toward the door to the TARDIS' hallways. He pulled it open, and surely enough, it was dark as far as the eye could see, and quite cold.

The lights in the bedroom went out, and for a few seconds, they stood in pitch-black silence, squeezing each other's hands, until a faint light shone in the hallway.

The two of them turned right, and trod a memorised route toward the console room. All along the way, the TARDIS lit areas just ahead of them, extinguishing lights as they passed, keeping their path visible, just enough so as not to let them run into the wall.

When they reached the console room, the TARDIS gave a sickly groan, and slowly, the time rotor came on. Though, not all the way – it was a weak green glow that allowed them to see the controls, and each other… but just barely.

Martha was now sorely regretting having stepped underneath that waterfall – for a couple of reasons. The current, most immediate reason was that her hair was still wet, and the interior of the TARDIS was uncomfortably frigid.

She went down the ramp, because she could see the hat rack beside the door, and that something was draped over it. She was relieved to find that she was right – it was her red leather jacket. It wasn't the heavy coat she would eventually need, but it would do for now. She put it on and zipped it. On her way back up the ramp, she noticed a heap over one of the coral-style columns that decorated the room – this was where the Doctor always threw his coat, for some reason. She grabbed it, and handed it to him. He thanked her and pulled it on absently, as he tried a few buttons and bobs on the console.

"Isn't she completely powered down now, except for this light?" Martha asked.

"Pretty much," he said, trying one of the cranks. "Nothing's working."

"So… crash-land. Heart attacks – if that's what they were. Totally dormant TARDIS. No idea where we are."

"Yep."

"Okay. So… what now?"

"Wish I knew."

* * *

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 **Thanks for reading!**


	3. Searching In The Dark

SEARCHING IN THE DARK

Martha had summed up their situation: they had crash-landed, they had both had some sort of cardiac event (the Doctor's much more severe than hers), the TARDIS had gone totally dormant, only able to provide enough light that they could see each other's silhouettes from across the room. As such, her instruments weren't working, and they had no idea where they were.

"Okay. So… what now?" she asked.

"Wish I knew."

"Well, then I guess I'll do what I do best, in a crisis," she said. She reached out and found the pen and pad of paper the Doctor had pulled from the console earlier, then grabbed his wrist.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking your vitals," she said, searching his skin for the artery. She pressed it with two fingers, then paused for a few moments. "Your pulse is normal… for you." She wrote down what she'd found.

"Why are you doing this?"

"You had some sort of…" she paused. "What's the Time Lord word for _myocardial infarction?_ "

"A heart attack," he said, flatly. "And you had one, too, remember?"

"Not like you," she said. "Mine abated much more quickly, and never was as intense."

"So you're examining me?"

"We don't know where we are, or what to do next, and the TARDIS is in a coma," she practically shrieked, throwing her arms out to her sides, exasperated. "If I were a survivalist, I'd go spelunking through the TARDIS to find supplies. If I were a programmer, I'd try to help you bring the TARDIS' machinery back online. But I'm a doctor, so, I'm trying to find out why we both had a cardiac event at the same time, and the risk of it happening again. At least until we work out how to make the TARDIS un-crashed."

"Okay, okay," he said. "I've got to admit, I'm curious."

"Had anything like that ever happened to you before?"

"No," he said. "Actually, let me put it this way: I've never _survived_ anything like that before."

"Was there any warning beforehand? Shortening of breath? Pain in your arm?"

"If there was, I wouldn't have noticed," he said. "We were crashing. And before that, we were..."

"Is it possible this is all a coincidence? The crash and the heart attack at the same time?"

"Anything is possible," he sighed.

"When was the last time you had a physical?"

"A physical?"

"Yes, it means a full physical examination."

"I know what it is," he told her, a little annoyed. "I'm just surprised you'd ask. It's a very human question."

"Well, I'm human. What's the answer?"

"I don't know if I've _ever_ had one," he said. "My body regenerates. When it burns out, I get a new one. Time Lords aren't long in the preventative care area."

"Well, that stops now. Take off your coat, jacket and shirt."

"No," he groaned. "I just got them back on! Besides, it's freezing."

"Doctor, what if it happens again? What if there was a way we could have stopped it? What if it kills you next time? Or me?"

He groaned again.

Instead of forcing the issue, she asked, "Do you have arteries in all the same places as me?"

"I have more of them because of the two-hearts situation, but they're in the same places, yes," he answered.

She nodded subtly, then reached forward with two fingers, and felt his pulse at the carotid artery. She held it for a few seconds, wrote down the result, then said, "Stand up."

He did. "Why?"

"I'm trying to estimate your BP," she said. "I'm going to try to get at the femoral artery."

He chuckled. "Do what you have to."

She unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers, chuckling a little, along with him. She slipped her hand inside, and felt for a pulse in the crease between his abdomen and thigh.

"Your pulse is quickening," she said.

"Yeah, I know," he said. "I wonder why."

Without removing her hand, she asked, "How's your chest? Any tightening?"

"A little, actually."

"Just from me… doing this?"

"Erm… yeah. Why are you surprised?"

She extracted her hand. "Why the hell are you suddenly so fragile?"

"No idea."

She wrote something down on her pad.

"Doctor, I really want to do a physical," she said. "But if I do, will I be able to learn anything? I mean, how actually different is your physiology?"

"Not that different, mechanically, except, as I said, the two-hearts situation," he said. "And I have a respiratory bypass, which means my lungs have an extra flap that yours don't. The biggest differences between me and a human are at the DNA-level, and in brain function. The regenerative abilities, the time-and-space connection, things like that."

"Okay, then. Seriously. Lose the coat, jacket and the shirt."

"Ugh, fine," he complained.

* * *

Martha pressed at the major organs, feeling for general size and consistency. She found a stethoscope in the under-console storage compartment, and listened for abnormal sounds in the heart and lungs. She tapped hard at different points across his stomach and chest, using "percussion" to try and detect fluids where they don't belong. She checked reflexes in the knees and elbows…

"If I had an up-and-working lab, I'd take bloods, too," she said. Then she sighed heavily. "As it stands, nothing abnormal, that I can find, but I have no real instruments. I'd love to do labs, do an EKG, and get you a consult with a cardiac surgeon, but as it is…"

"Dr. Jones, relax," he said. "It doesn't fall completely on you to find out what's wrong with me."

"Is it possible it's your regenerative qualities causing this?"

"I suppose," he said. "But let's not forget, you had a milder case of the same thing."

"Well, then," she said handing him the stethoscope. "Examine me. As much as you can, without technology, anyway."

He got dressed, she got undressed, and he repeated the process on her. And like her, he was unable to find any anomaly.

"I never thought I'd be disappointed to find that both of us have all organs in working condition," she said, pulling her purple v-neck over her head once again.

"Well," he responded, pulling on his overcoat. "I do so love a challenge."

"Let's hope you survive to face it."

"Okay, well, brilliant!" he said clapped. "First question… not answered! Let's move on to question two: where the hell are we?"

She pulled her coat on, as well, and followed him down the ramp. He pulled open the door.

"Whoa," she breathed. "That is _weird."_

"Okay, well, that tells us one other small thing," he said. "The TARDIS is able to light the time rotor slightly, as well as continue to run the gravity boosters. At least in the console room. Thanks again, old girl."

" _Thank you_ is right."

They stared outside at a planet that looked to be turned sideways. In reality, they both knew that it was the blue box that had _crashed_ sideways, though they were still able to walk normally inside.

"Unfortunately, though," he said, sticking his head outside. "We could be in any one of a hundred places. It's dark. Barren land as far as the eye can see. Rocks, dirt, a hill or two here or there…"

"Is it night? Or just a dark planet?"

"Most planets can't survive without sun, so it's probably just night," the Doctor said. "Although… I do see some faint light on the horizon…"

They both squinted at a point off to the right, where there was some sort of extremely pale illumination.

As it came into focus, Martha asked, "Are those… buildings?"

"Sort of looks like it, eh?"

"So, civilisation."

"Let's not jump the gun," he warned. He squinted for a little while longer, then went back to the console and found a pair of very normal binoculars. He checked out the cluster of buildings and light, and said, "Oh… dear."

"What? I hate when you say that."

"I think I see Velosramparts."

"What's that?"

He handed her the binoculars. "See those things that look like arrowheads, that seem to stand up like a fence?"

Martha looked. "Yeah, I see them."

"They're called Velosramparts," he said. "And they're a clear indicator of hostility. Hostility and barbarism."

"Hostility and barbarism against whom?"

"Who knows? Let's play it safe and assume, everyone who isn't them."

"Great. So… xenophobic and violent."

"In a nutshell. There's something I need to know," he said. He stepped carefully outside, and bizarrely, it looked to Martha as though the Doctor was walking sideways.

He pulled the sonic screwdriver from his pocket, and Martha heard it buzz, as he disappeared for a few moments, and then came back into view. She assumed he'd walked around the blue box, aiming the device, to take readings.

"What is it you needed to know?"

"Whether the perception filter is working," he said, frowning.

"I'll assume by the look on your face that it's not," she said, now also frowning.

"You'll be correct," he said. With that, he jumped into the TARDIS, landing, weirdly, on his feet, on the floor.

"This is mental," she said, looking him over, marveling at the strange gravitational phenomena now in play.

"Yeah, I agree," he said. "So, we have a tiny bit of light, and gravity in the TARDIS, but no protection on a hostile planet. No shields, no perception filter. And no possibility of walking out there to get help."

"And no instruments to detect anyone getting nearer, nor to tell us what's wrong with her…" Martha said, looking sadly at the console. "Plus, it's dark and cold."

"Right, and not any warmer out there. At the moment, we might as well just be in a tent in the middle of a field."

"I hate to ask this, but have you got any weapons?"

"A few," he said. "All right, I'm going to assume that the TARDIS will continue to light the way for us, however sparsely, so I think we need to go back in, and grab a few things. What are our immediate needs? Defence…"

"Warmth and food."

"Yes," he agreed. "And… you know, it's very tempting to say that we should just hole up in the bedroom, but I really think, for safety's sake, we need to be here in the console room. That way, we know straight away if anything comes back online, or, Rassilon help us, if anyone or anything gets in. Can't have someone infiltrating the depths of the TARDIS in the pitch dark."

"You're the captain," she said.

"Once we have what we need for now, let's try to get some rest, and tomorrow, I'll set about trying to diagnose and repair her, using the sonic, and… I don't know what else. Maybe I'll be able to think better tomorrow."

"Okay," she said, stroking his arm and shoulder.

He looked at the extremely dim time rotor, and asked, "Can you divert light from here, and help us out one more time?" He stroked the console, then patted it fondly.

He took Martha's hand and the two of them ventured into the hallway, whereupon the time rotor went out, and one little light above them came on. They both thanked the TARDIS, as they moved forward.

* * *

Their first stop was the kitchen. They took a canvas grocery bag from underneath the sink, and filled it with fruits, cheeses, cans of nuts and bottled water.

Second stop was the wardrobe room. A few weeks back, she had borrowed a long wool coat, some matching gloves and hat, for a foray into the winter of 1938, and she had simply tossed them all back in when she had finished when them. She found all the pieces easily, on the floor, and donned them again, setting her red leather aside for later.

The closest bedroom was Donna's, so they went in and borrowed the comforter off the bed, and moved on.

Next stop was a room with double doors that Martha had never seen before. To her surprise, it was packed to the gills with weapons.

"Oh my God!" she mused, walking in. "This is… this is… how is it that you have all this?"

"What? You didn't think that just because I hate weapons and never use them that a fully-functioning TARDIS wouldn't come with an armoury did you?"

"I never gave it much…"

"The Time Lords knew their way around a war," he said. "They had weapons that the most advanced human computer game-designer won't even think of until the twenty-third century. And that speaks very well of humans, by the way."

"Blimey."

"All of the type-40 TARDISes were designed for a crew of six, and equipped with living quarters and supplies for six. Over the years, I've run through a lot of those supplies on my own… but not these," he said, looking around at the room, rather worriedly. "Dipped in here maybe twice, in the last seven hundred years."

"Sorry," she said.

"The ones nearest to the door will do the least damage," he said. "They will stun, and buy us time, but they won't kill, and won't permanently injure."

"Right," she said, dropping the comforter on the floor, and going straight for the large gun closest to the door. She took it down off the rack and inspected it.

He quickly showed her how to arm it, aim it, and pull the trigger.

"It has a smart scope," he said. "So, even if you're a crap shot, it will most likely realise what you're aiming at, and correct for the discrepancy."

"Good to know, because I'm a crap shot."

He gathered up the comforter, then took a stunning weapon off the wall as well, and they left the room dark.

Faint light followed them, lastly, to a storage room, in which Martha had been several times. Each time, she'd hated it.

"Ugh, not this again."

"Sorry," he said. "There are a few things in here that could save our lives. Hopefully, I'll only be a mo'."

The Doctor dumped the comforter and the weapon by the door, so Martha left her weapon and her grocery bag beside it, and followed him in.

"What are we looking for?"

"Keys," he said.

"Keys?"

"Yeah, the keys on strings that you and Jack and I wore around our necks when we were ducking the Master," he said.

"Ah yes," she said, remembering that he had taken back those keys when the debacle was over, promising to issue new ones… though he hadn't, because she and Jack had both rather promptly left him, after the Master had been dispatched.

"If we can find them, we can hang them on the outside of the TARDIS, and hopefully, give her a little bit of the perception filter she's currently lacking."

The keys took well over an hour to find, because the room was packed with shelf after shelf of junk. Not to mention, there wasn't much light, and the keys' very nature was to be cloaked from being seen. Unsurprisingly, it was the Doctor who found them, in a place where Martha had already looked twice.

"Finally," she sighed.

* * *

"Are you thinking we should sleep here on the platform?" she asked, after they had brought their supplies back to the console room. "I think that might be a bit rough…"

"Let's sleep down there," the Doctor said, pointing to a place on the other side of the railings that surrounded the console. It was lower than the platform, closer to the wall, and the floor was smooth, like concrete. "I mean, there are softer surfaces in the world, but at least we won't wake up with scars on our faces in the shape of Belgian Waffles."

Martha created a little bit of a nest for them in the space between the wall and the console platform, while the Doctor went outside to hang the three perception filter keys on the exterior of the TARDIS. He made sure to lock the door securely, as he came back in, then hopped over the railing, instead of coming up the ramp, like usual.

She removed her coat, and folded it up, placing it on the floor. When she lay down, she used it like a pillow, and then pulled the comforter over herself. It was uncomfortable, but she had slept in much worse conditions.

He removed his own coat (and suit jacket) and did the same thing, lying down beside her. She rolled to her side almost immediately, resting her head on his shoulder, and curling up under his arm.

After a long silence, Martha asked, "The fact that she's keeping us grounded, and there's this tiny bit of light… that's an indicator that she's still alive, right?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "But the fact that _none_ of her defences are up, and literally everything else has gone dark…"

"Means she might not be alive for much longer?"

"Maybe," he said. "But you had it right when you said she's in a coma. The two functions she's giving us now are more or less autonomic. She's pretty much totally unconscious, but is able to accommodate _us_ because it's literally her primary function. Like when a human is in a coma and can still breathe and maintain a heartbeat."

"Could she just be shutting down in order to keep her reserves?"

"Could be," the Doctor said. "I'm hoping to find out more tomorrow. Right now, I'm not at my best..."

"Right, it's been a long day."

"That, and…"

After he didn't say anything further, she asked, "That, and what?"

"Don't think less of me, but I'm a bit addled from…"

"From?"

"From being interrupted earlier," he said.

"Oh. In the waterfall?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "I guess I let myself get pretty… involved."

"Involved," she repeated, with amusement. "Is that a gentlemanly way of saying _blind with lust?_ "

"Well, yeah. You… under all that water…"

"I don't know if I was quite as far gone as you, but I was feeling it too," she confessed.

He sighed heavily. "In very many ways, Martha, I'm a lofty being. Plugged into time and space… I'm all cerebral and philosophical, and well, sometimes I act like I'm above it all. But I suppose you've noticed by now that I'm…"

"…Earthy in all the right ways?"

"Earthy?" he asked. "Perhaps. I was going to say, plagued by my id, like everyone else."

"You're just as physical as you are cerebral. I've known that since I met you."

"You have?"

"Yes. And, I understand," she said. "To a lesser extent, I've often been perceived the same way. The clever girl, the sciency-type in the white lab coat, the woman-in-the-trenches in her blue scrubs. Well brought-up, well-educated, blah, blah, blah…"

"You couldn't possibly have carnal desires," he commented, with a mock-posh accent.

"Exactly," she said. "But I, like every sentient being in the universe, understand how it feels _not_ to have satisfaction. Lived that way with you for… oh, longer than I care to think about."

"The daft bit of that is, I lived that way with you, too."

"And I also know what it feels like to be _so certain_ you're going to get satisfaction, and then you don't."

"Mm," he said, jaw clenched.

"You still could," she said. "If you still want to."

"Still could, what? Have satisfaction?"

"Yes. I'm here. We're close. We're cold and frightened..."

"Aren't you just a bit wary that your considerable _charms_ will send me into myocardial infarction, Dr. Jones?"

"Yes, a little," she said. "But we got you out of it before. Or, maybe it won't happen. Maybe if we go really slow…"

He turned her way, and rolled on top of her, and gave her a hearty kiss. Then, he said, "That's very risky. Are you sure you're up for _risky?_ "

"Such is life with you," she said, meekly.

"I'll admit, I'm interested to see what happens, though I don't like my odds."

"If you feel anything heart-attacky, then stop."

"You make it sound so easy."

"Take it slow. We've got all night," she whispered.

Unable to resist, he began, again, with her exposed neck. He planted kisses all over, just as he explored the smooth, warm flesh underneath her shirt.

He proceeded as calmly as he could, and for a long while, they were able to rove about each other with fingers and lips, slowly, very slowly, approaching something much sweeter, much more rigorous and therapeutic… hopefully with _some_ measure of control.

And at some point, he lost himself just a bit, and groaned in her ear something about how badly he wanted her, and then he shifted positions. When he did, she felt him again, rock hard inside his trousers, pressed against her thigh. At the same time, he tugged hard at the button of her jeans, for the second time that night.

In those few seconds, everything changed. For her, everything ramped up a couple of notches… arousal, expectation, and something else…

And suddenly, she felt a constriction of her chest, and a searing pain.

"Doctor?" she croaked.

"Mm?" he asked, barely hearing her, becoming abandoned to the moment.

"Doctor?" she croaked again. "Stop."

"What?" he said, continuing, and now tugging at her waistband.

"Stop!" she repeated, now at a rasping whisper, as something was seizing her, cutting off her air, and making her chest feel like it would explode. Her arms ached, her vision felt blurry.

"I'm fine," he protested.

"I'm not," she breathed, and then pushed his shoulders away from her, with what little dwindling strength she had.

The jolt brought him round, and he pulled back, sitting on his haunches now. "Oh, God! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Martha… what… what?"

She gasped raggedly, and turned over on her side, clutching her chest.

He cursed, then forced himself to take a few seconds to calm down, for the good of them both. Then he ran for the stethoscope, came back and took her pulse, tried to lull her….

And in a minute or so, the event subsided. Her heart-rate and pulse, blood pressure, and breathing returned to normal.

"Are you all right?" he asked, at last, after she had been able to sit up, and given him ten clean in-and-out breaths.

A harried "No!" escaped her, as she burst into frightened, frustrated tears. "I'm sorry!"

"Sorry? For what?"

"I shouldn't have encouraged you… I'm a doctor, I know better! I should've left well-enough alone!"

"I wasn't exactly resisting you."

"I know, but…"

"Shhh," he said. "Just stop right there. This isn't your fault, nor mine. Something is happening to us. And we'll work it out, okay? I promise."

He lay down beside her, and just held her for a bit. She cried herself to sleep. He did not… but he felt like it.

* * *

 **Hey, everyone! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please don't be silent - if you're following, reading, having feelings, please leave a review! Call it a late Christmas present!**

 **Thanks for reading. :-)**


	4. Encore

**Hi all. I feel another disclaimer is necessary here. I had to invent some stuff to further my plot (in a science-fiction story? No way!). So, I must tell you again that I know nothing about getting prescriptions filled abroad (no matter what country you're coming from, or where you are). I also know nothing about how doctors' sabbaticals work in the NHS, and what it means for their credentials. Please be kind.**

 **I'm willing to do some research on medicine itself because it's actually useful, interesting, and I feel it adds integrity to my story if Martha Jones actually knows what she's talking about. I will not, however, do research on bureaucratic b.s. So there. :-)**

 **Though, the medical stuff, I probably get it wrong all over the place!**

 **Anyway, chapter 4. Here comes slightly more information about the heart attack phenomenon, plus a bit of a cliffhanger... :-) Enjoy!**

* * *

ENCORE

The Doctor only slept about three hours, but it had proved sufficient. He wasn't sure what planet they were on – only that its inhabitants were very likely hostile and violent – so he didn't know how long the night was bound to be. He simply let Martha sleep until the sun came up.

Meanwhile, he used a technique of resonating sonic pulses through metal, to try and determine how much power was left in his sonic screwdriver. Fortunately, he hadn't used it much during Donna's recovery period, and the device was rested, and had had a chance to recharge. It had likely more than a week's worth of use in it. The Doctor fully intended to be able to plug it into the TARDIS console for a new charge, well before a week was up.

Well, it was good to have goals, anyway.

He then tried to use the sonic to diagnose the TARDIS. What went down first? This was the best question the Doctor could think to ask. He was able to scan different functions to get a sort of "time of death" from each one.

When he woke Martha, just after daybreak, he said, "I have good news."

"Yeah? That we've been rescued by intelligent, benevolent beings to whom you owe a favour, and the TARDIS will be up and running again within the hour?"

"Blimey," he muttered. "Rain on a guy's parade, will you?"

She smiled. "Sorry. What's your good news?"

"I worked out which of her functions went down first," he told her, rather expressionlessly.

"Oh. What was it?"

"The central sentience unit," he said. "Her heart."

"So, she had a heart attack just like we did?"

"Yep."

"Who would give a TARDIS a heart attack? That's barbaric."

"Agreed."

"So now she's in a coma?"

"Yes, which is horrible, but it gives us a place to start," he said. "It explains a few things. If her heart failed, then nothing else could run… _of course_ her navigation system failed then, and after that, one by one, everything else. Although it makes things hard, because her heart is hardly mechanical, so I can't just, you know, sonic it to life. And without it, nothing else will respond either."

"Well, how can I help?"

"By being you," he said. "And I mean that literally. The TARDIS's heart is tuned into me, and to you. The more contact with _us_ she can have - me as me, and you as you - the more likely it is that she'll come round."

"Okay. Be me. I can do that."

"And…" he said, rooting around in his pocket. He came up with a hand-held mirror, and thrust it at her. "This."

"This?" she asked, taking it. "You want me to fix my hair?"

"No," he said. He stood up and crossed to the ramp, ducking under the railing, then went to the door. He opened it, letting in a flood of the planet's sunlight. "If I'm going to be spelunking under the floor, it might help if you could hold the mirror just so, so we can get the light where we need it."

"Oh! Okay, I'm willing to try!" she chirped, getting to her feet.

"Also, maybe now that there's sunlight, you could go down the hall and bring back the coffee maker. The TARDIS will give you light."

"Okay. What for?"

"We need coffee," he said. "And I think I can sonic it up to run without electricity for now. And we don't have to listen to Donna complain about it."

* * *

Martha spent the next three hours sitting on the floor of the console room, adjusting her wrist so as to shine narrow beams of sunlight down underneath the floor panels, where the Doctor seemed to be working fruitlessly to bring alive the TARDIS' central sentience unit.

He tried to explain to her components, as though the unit were like a real "heart," but the whole thing seemed so abstract to her, as to be meaningless.

"All right," he said, just before they'd said they'd take a break. "This is my last-ditch effort with the heart. If this doesn't work, I'm going to have to completely rethink my thinking. Here's hoping I haven't been going about this all wrong, eh?"

He helped Martha adjust her wrist, so as to shine light directly upon what looked like a cross between a circuit panel and a brain, then tried to finesse it. He stroked it with his fingers, and talked to it, tried to massage it, hoping to give it… well, hope. Then he used the sonic to manipulate it, but there was no response.

"Come on, old girl," he said. "I saw a beat. I saw a little pulse, a throb, a flicker... something! I know you know I'm here."

He tried again with the sonic, and failed.

"Damn it," he spat. "Come on!"

He tried again. No response.

He let out a great, ragged, frustrated cry, then chucked the screwdriver out through the open panel, past Martha, and into the corner of the console room. He screamed out a curse – couldn't stop himself, and then found himself choked.

"Doctor?" Martha asked, throwing the mirror aside.

He bent at the waist, catching himself against his own knees, clutching at the front of his jacket and shirt. He coughed hard, several times, and tried to say her name…

She jumped down into the lower area where he was, and guided him down into a seated, then lying position. She sat beside him, and held his wrist for a few minutes, feeling his pulse subside.

"Well," he said, after catching his breath. "If nothing else, this little _phenomenon_ will be good anger management."

"One thing is reassuring about today's revelations," she commented. "It's not just _us_ doing it to each other."

"Very true."

"I was thinking, like, I'm toxic to you, and you're toxic to me, and how bloody awful that would be, if true. Looks like, well, actually, it's far more serious than that… yet, somehow that's reassuring."

"Agreed."

"Are you okay to get up now?"

"Yes," he said. "Let's have some lunch, yeah?"

They climbed out onto the platform, and Martha went to the corner to rescue the sonic screwdriver, while the Doctor opened up the canvas grocery bag they'd filled the night before, with items for eating.

She approached him as he set out a couple of apples, a can of almonds and a small block of sliced cheese on the console. "You got lucky. It didn't break," she told him, holding out the screwdriver to him.

"Thanks," he said. "I'm sorry I lost my temper and, you know… threw something. Bad form, I know. Not to mention potentially deadly."

"It's all right," she said getting up on her tiptoes for a kiss. "Under normal circumstances, I rather like when you get all fired-up."

He smirked. "Really? How shocking, Dr. Jones."

"Well, without that side of you, we wouldn't have the things that _really_ get my heart-rate up, for better or worse."

"I'm glad you feel that way. Under normal circumstances."

"I have to say, I'm very impatient for _normal circumstances_ to resume," she said. "In fact…"

With that, she coughed, and her hand went instinctively to her chest.

"Seriously?" he asked. "Flirting?"

"Oh, you've _got_ to be kidding me with this," she said, angrily, then sat down on the leather seat, holding her own wrist.

"Mild, but infuriating," he said, after she'd calmed.

"Yeah. Fury and sexual frustration," she said. "What a great combo for a day like today."

"It'll be okay," he assured her. "I'd love to give you a little shoulder rub, but I'm afraid it would kill us both."

"If I weren't pissed off, I'd laugh," she said, flatly.

* * *

They sat against the wall near where they'd slept, and shared some fruit, nuts and cheese, but their lunch was mostly silent. At this stage, they weren't entirely sure what they could do or say…

Martha chuckled bitterly.

"What?" he asked, surprised at the little break in the silence.

"This is like the old days," she said, her voice betraying fatigue.

"What do you mean?"

"When we'd be near each other, side-by-side, sharing an adventure, both having _feelings,_ but having to censor what we say," she explained. "At least… I censored myself, can't speak for you."

"I did, too," he said. "Maybe not as often."

"Back then, all I wanted to do was reach out to you, but couldn't," she said, with a big, sad sigh. "I wanted to talk to you about inflammatory things. I wanted to kiss you. I wanted everything from you… and couldn't have it."

He was silent for a long moment. "Is _this_ how you felt that first year with me? This repressive heart-attack thing?"

She smiled slightly. "Somewhat. Metaphorically, maybe. I couldn't bring up how I was feeling, like, ever. I walked on eggshells, for fear of getting my hopes up, or God forbid, revealing too much of myself."

"I'm sorry," he told her, very quietly.

"I certainly couldn't touch you, or ask you to touch me, reassure me, hold me…"

"So you settled for sitting side-by-side in silence?"

"Again, metaphorically, yes," she sighed.

"I'm so sorry," he repeated.

Another long silence passed.

"I'm terrified, Doctor," she admitted, finally.

"I am too."

"And what I want most right now is comfort. From you. I want nothing more that to fall into your arms and forget all about this rubbish… and I can't. I feel like I can't even let my mind go there."

"I feel that too," he said. "Like I'm in a cage. Like everything about me, inside and out, is in need of restraint. Restraint is nothing I've ever been good at."

"And that's what makes you you," she commented. "You see? Anything familiar, or meaningful, or visceral… anything that would keep us connected has been taken from us."

"Yeah," he whispered.

"I mean, what is it? Is there something in the air that we're allergic to? Is the oxygen contaminated? Is the TARDIS' illness contagious?"

"I'm not sure yet, but we'll suss it out. Maybe as I continue to work with the TARDIS, something will come to light... a pathogen, a pollen... something. Maybe she will find a way to tell us, even whilst comatose."

"She can do that?"

"Stranger things have happened."

"If you say so."

With that, he took a chance and reached out for her hand. For a while, she just laid her head against his shoulder, too depressed to feel anything else.

* * *

The Doctor set to work again on the TARDIS. Since her heart was not responsive, he tried a different approach… even if it meant not getting to the root of the problem, and having to work backwards.

"On the bright side," he said. "Kinetic energy is not hard to generate, even if we _can't_ get our heartrates up, and I think that we could get the Settrove Modulator up and running if..."

He was interrupted by a familiar sound.

"Damn it, that's my phone!" Martha said.

"Where is it?"

"On my night table in the bedroom," she said. "I'd forgotten all about it!"

"Well, go answer it," he said. "I've got sunlight coming in through the door now – I'll be fine. If you leave the console room, the TARDIS' light will follow you."

Without a word, Martha took off down the hall toward the bedroom, and the ringing phone. She didn't catch it in time.

According to the display when she picked it up, there was a voice message waiting for her from Donna.

She walked back to the console room, while she listened to the message.

" _Martha, what the hell is going on?"_ the message asked. _"I tried ringing the TARDIS and all I could hear was this eerie groaning sound – I mean, I've never heard anything like it. Like a ghost in a cave, or something. And now, I can't get through to you, either. I realise that you're alone with the Doctor now, so the reason for your non-response could be that you're holed up in a sex parlour of some sort and aren't coming out for three more days. I also know that you're alone with the Doctor, so it's also possible that you're not answering your phone because you're running from a giant, murderous Flytrap that's actually on Venus. I reckon it's fifty-fifty. So, I'm fifty per cent panicked. Anyway, if you're all right, please ring me back. Love you guys – hope you're okay."_

"Who was it?" the Doctor asked.

"Donna," she answered.

"What's she calling for? Aren't they busy… you know… enjoying Portugal?"

"I dunno," Martha shrugged. "She didn't say… in her message, she's all wound up about how she can't get through to us. Said she tried to call the TARDIS and got an eerie groaning sound."

"What sort of groaning? Like her usual groaning?" he wanted to know, stopping his repairs dead, and looking at her seriously.

"She said she'd never heard anything like it."

"High-pitched or low?"

"I don't know. She said _eerie groaning like a ghost in a cave._ That's what she said."

"Was there reverb?"

"I don't know, Doctor! I'm not the one who heard it!"

"Well, ring her back, would you? Find out."

"Excuse me? Does the Captain not say _please_ to his First Mate?"

"Please," he muttered, returning to his work.

"Ah yes, much better," she muttered back, irritated, as she hit _redial._

"Hello?" Donna's excitable voice said.

Martha put the call on speakerphone. "Hiya," Martha said. "We're alive, no need to panic."

"Thank goodness," Donna practically whined. "I had absolutely no idea what to make of that sound I heard!"

"What was it like, Donna?" the Doctor asked, practically falling across the console to get near enough to Martha's phone.

"Erm, hello to you, too," Colin protested. They hadn't even realised he was on the line with them.

"Hi Colin, hi Donna, nice to hear your voices," the Doctor said quickly. "What was the sound like?"

"What was it like? It was… ghostly. A low-pitched groan," she answered.

"Did you say it was like a ghost in a cave?" he asked.

"Yeah… it seemed to have a sort of echo… thing," she said. "Hard to explain. And it had a pulse."

"A pulse?"

"Yes, like a beat."

"The groan itself _was_ the pulse, or there was an underlying pulse?"

"I dunno! I didn't take notes! Why don't you just call it yourself?" she asked.

"We're too close," he said. "The communication would be all distorted – I wouldn't be able to get a clear read."

"What is going on, Doctor?" Donna demanded.

"Well… we've crash-landed," Martha told her.

"What?" Colin shouted. "Crash-landed where? Are you okay?"

"We are basically okay, but we don't know where we are. We just know it's a hostile planet…"

"A hostile _planet_?" Colin asked, again, loudly. They could practically _feel_ him trying to jump through the phone.

"Yes, Colin, a hostile planet," Martha repeated.

"Jesus," he breathed.

"Anyway, that means we can't leave the TARDIS. But, the TARDIS is completely dark, cold, and out-of-commission… it's got its gravity working, and a scant – very scant – amount of light, but that's it," Martha explained "The Doctor can't even work out how to fix the heart."

"The heart?" Donna asked.

"Yes," the Doctor said, absently. "The central sentience unit. The heart."

"Speaking of which, here's another fun fact: we're both having cardiac events regularly."

"You're having… what, like heart attacks?" Colin asked.

"Yes, sort of like heart attacks," Martha confirmed. "Sometimes it doesn't get that far, but…"

"That's completely mental!" Donna cried. "I mean, what, was I contagious all that time and didn't know it?"

Colin chimed in again. "And what do you mean by _regularly_? Like, at intervals?"

"No," Martha sighed. "Just when we get… excited."

"Oh, God…" Colin groaned.

"Or angry," the Doctor added.

"Yikes!" Donna said. "So, whenever you get your heartrate up, you have literal _heart attacks_?"

"To varying degrees, yes."

"That must be torture!"

"Sort of, yeah. Overall, the Doctor's episodes have been much more severe than mine. Probably because he's got two of them, plus extra arteries and veins and whatnot. The more complex a system, the more wrong things go when they go wrong."

"Well, that's a pisser," Donna remarked. "So, what are you doing, just sitting there in the console room, looking at each other?"

"Pretty much. That, and trying to fix stuff."

"And it's _everywhere_ in the TARDIS?"

"It's in… well, at least this Canadian lagoon place, right off from the bedroom, and in the console room. We haven't been anywhere else."

"Blimey," Donna breathed. "So _everyone_ has a bad heart now? Including the all-powerful TARDIS?"

"No," Martha said, emphatically, beginning to pace the platform. "No-one does. This is an anomaly, I'm sure of it. Speaking of which, how are you?"

"Well, it seems rather daft to complain about it now," Donna said. "But I called to tell you that the prescription request didn't get through to the chemist here."

"Damn," Martha groaned.

"Sorry to report, Martha," Colin said. "But it's something to do with your credential with Royal Hope."

"Oh, that's right – I'm on sabbatical," Martha said, smacking her forehead with her palm. "Without being on the payroll, the hospital can't endorse my credential for practising medicine abroad."

"Can't the other doctors vouch for you?" Colin wondered.

"They would, but it's a question of legality… paperwork, dates of instatement, that sort of thing," Martha said.

"And this constitutes practising abroad? Calling in a script?" Donna asked.

"Yes," Martha sighed. "Okay, I'm going to see if one of my colleagues will write the script and push it through."

"Okay. Sorry," Donna muttered, sheepishly.

"Sorry? Why are you sorry?"

"Because you two have got bigger fish to fry now."

"Bigger than _your_ health? I don't think so," Martha said. "Again, Donna, this is what I do! _This_ is my biggest fish! Can you give me the name of the resort again? I will call straight away, and see…"

"Oh, no," the Doctor said, interrupting Martha's sentence. He was staring out the door, eyes wide. He repeated. "Oh, no."

And that's when he began to stumble across the console platform, once again, only this time, toward the door.

"No, no! No, no, no, no, no!" he shouted.

"What's that?" Donna wondered. "That's his panic mode!"

He slammed the door shut, and leaned against it, clutching his chest, with a few dry coughs.

"What did you see?" Martha asked.

But he didn't have enough breath to answer. He had just enough time to remember to lock the door, before the pounding began.

* * *

 **Uh-oh! :-o**

 **Thanks for the reviews thus far... please keep them coming! And happy New Year!**


	5. Being Held

BEING HELD

"What's that pounding?" Colin asked.

"That's someone on the other side of the TARDIS door," Donna said, an edge in her voice.

The two of them were sitting on the end of the bed in their suite in Portugal, listening on speakerphone to the Doctor and Martha on some distant planet, now, it would seem, in some sort of peril.

"Doctor! Martha! Are you all right?" he shouted.

With that, they heard a _click_ , and were momentarily afraid that the call had been cut off, but they did not stop hearing pounding. After a moment, they heard Martha ask, "Doctor, are you going to be okay? Looks like we've got to get our heads in the game now."

"Thank goodness, she just took us off speakerphone," Donna said.

"I'm fine," the Doctor rasped, as the pounding continued.

A voice from faraway said, "You are trespassing illegally on Sercaton! Open your vessel at once!"

"Oh, shit," Colin breathed.

"It's okay," Donna said. "They can handle it, they can handle it. We've all been through this, and everyone is still alive."

"Sercaton?" they heard the Doctor practically choke out. "Sercaton?"

"What does that mean?" Martha asked.

The pounding obscured his answer.

The faraway voice then said, "You have ten seconds to open this door before we blast it open. If you know what's good for you, you will calmly submit to your fate."

"Calmly submit to your fate?" Colin asked. "What kind of advice is that?"

"Shh," Donna scolded.

From there, they heard the voice counting backward from ten, and Martha begging the Doctor at least to move out of the way, out of the path of whatever "blast" was coming."

"Three, two, one," said the voice.

Then, there was a large crash, clearly an explosion, that nearly broke Donna's phone's speakers, and the sound of Martha screaming.

"Oh my God, they're inside the TARDIS," Donna whispered.

Colin got up, and began to pace. "What do we do?" he asked, panicking.

"Nothing yet," Donna said. "We need more information. Martha's left the line open on purpose. Just listen."

They heard the great boom of words, "Put down your weapon, miss! This will do you no good!"

"I can't," she said.

"Then we will force you to."

A rustle – footsteps, clothing, metal clanking a bit…

Then a minute's silence passed.

The same voice, that now seemed to be closer to Martha's phone asked, "Are you all right, miss?"

"I'm… I'm…" Martha said.

"No, it's best if you stay seated for now," the voice said. Then he seemed to speak to someone else. "How is he?"

A second voice, from probably across the room, said, "He's arresting."

"Doctor…" Martha said, her tone high and concerned.

"No," said the first, closer voice. "Stay where you are. I will let you know when to move."

The farther voice said, "Sir, you are not in any immediate danger. Now, I know this situation seems dire, but I need you to calm down, for your own sake. If you don't, this cardiac arrest will continue, and your life will be in jeopardy."

"What? Are these arseholes trying to help them?" Colin asked.

Donna shrugged.

A couple of minutes passed with no sound, then, the faraway voice said, "There now, up you come. On your feet, sir. How do you feel?"

"Like my home has been broken into by a hostile race with a Huilion Blast," the Doctor said. "But hey, at least I'm not in cardiac arrest anymore. Again. Still?"

The closer voice said, "You, on your feet as well."

Colin and Donna heard rustling, and assumed that Martha was standing up.

"Now," said the faraway voice, seemingly changing positions in the console room. "The two of you will be coming with us. Please approach the door, and allow yourselves to be handcuffed."

"I don't think we'll be doing that," the Doctor protested. "I was recently captured and held prisoner in the Kyriarch system – didn't care for it much."

"You have broken our laws – you can't stop it, sir," said the voice. "And if you try, well… you know what will happen. So, I recommend that you follow our instructions to the letter, and stay very, very calm."

"Get out," the Doctor growled. Demanded.

The unmistakable sound of a weapon being readied could be heard over the line. "Stand down, sir. You are on our territory, and you're a criminal."

"Do you know who I am?" the Doctor asked.

"It is not important right now."

"Oh, yes it is," he replied, with his low, angry tone, reserved for reminding his foe that he's the scourge of the universe's greatest scum, he's the Oncoming Storm, he's forced entire armies into retreat. "Because all you need to do is look me up. Just ask the Cybermen. Just ask the last…"

And then he seemed cut off again, with a choked cough.

"Do you see sir? It behooves one to comply," said the voice.

"Oh, no," Donna breathed.

"Doctor," they heard Martha say. "Don't trouble yourself. Let's just… go with them."

They heard the Doctor cough a few more times.

Then, Martha said, "Stop struggling, Doctor. I'm going with them without a fight. Don't make me go alone."

"Wise decision," said one of the voices. "Prepare to be cuffed."

That was when Martha finally was obliged to shut her phone, and cut off the call.

"Oh my God," Colin shouted.

"Shh," Donna reminded him. "There are… neighbours."

"I don't give a damn about the bloody neighbours! My cousin and her… _whatever he is_ have just been taken prisoner!"

"Yeah. It happened last month, too, don't you remember? And they got out of it."

"So we do nothing?"

"No, not nothing… I just don't know _what_ to do yet. It's still possible the Doctor will be able to contact us, with more information, and instructions," she said. "He's done it before. And if not, we'll work it out. We're not stupid."

Colin sighed, and stopped pacing. "You know what was creepy? Apart from, you know, the whole thing?"

"What?"

"How unflappable they were - the kidnappers, I mean. And all the _you'd do well to keep calm_ stuff."

"Yeah, I agree, but it makes sense… if they know why the Doctor and Martha are having heart attacks all over the place, then, to avoid it, they would definitely want to keep everyone calm. At least for now."

Colin stood for a few moments, staring at nothing. Then he said, "Donna, can you ring the TARDIS again?"

"Yes, why?"

"I just want to hear it," he said.

"Okay," she said, confused, but dialling the odd combination of numbers, symbols and tones that would allow access to the TARDIS communication system, on a normal day. What they heard through the speakerphone was again, a low, ghostly groan.

"It's a sickly version of the sound the TARDIS usually makes, isn't it?"

"I suppose it is, yeah."

"And there's that pulse…" They listened for another few moments, and Colin reached for his own Smartphone, and said, "Don't cut it off."

He set the timer on his phone, and listened closely to the pulse for one minute. "What are you doing?" she asked.

He paused for sixty seconds, then pressed a button on his phone, ending the timer, and said, "One hundred beats per minute."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know," he said. "But it seems important somehow, like it's connected to something. Like it's something we need to know. Does that sound daft?"

"In the world of the Doctor? Not at all."

He sighed in exasperation, frustration at having some sort of knowledge _just barely_ out-of-reach. "The TARDIS is felled for now – completely non-responsive, yeah? Its heart is beating at a particular rate, and the Doctor and Martha seem to get smacked down by some sort of… I dunno… _cardiac mechanism_ , each time they get worked up. Their heart-rate rises and something bad happens."

"Cardiac mechanism?" she asked, standing up, excitedly. "That's a brilliant way of thinking of it! The same _mechanism_ probably brought down the TARDIS! And one hundred beats per minute is probably the maximum heartrate they can reach, before they go into cardiac arrest."

He looked at her with wide eyes, and nodded. "D'you think we're onto something?"

"Maybe. Probably. Damn it, I wish we could ask the Doctor," she spat, sitting back down.

"Me, too, weirdly."

* * *

The Doctor and Martha were transported across an unforgiving terrain in some sort of bulky truck, with weapons held to their heads, and near-constant reminders to remain calm, or else. They were kept from talking to, looking at, or touching each other. And when they were allowed to exit the vehicle, it was into a large, black, looming building, devoid of character or warmth.

Their captors were all tall, some as tall, but most taller than the Doctor, and thinner (which was saying something). Over their very narrow heads, they wore what seemed to be a kind of rubber helmet, complete with large, dead-looking, dark glass eye-holes, and a sharp-looking grate over the mouth. The effect was eerie, and absolutely alien.

The Doctor was the first to be taken behind a key-padded door, with four members of the squad that had kidnapped them. Martha was told to wait.

So she waited.

And waited. And waited.

It felt like hours.

She waited in a black room, lit with one cold, fluorescent-like light above. She could hear nothing, see nothing except her immediate surroundings, and had no idea what was happening to the Doctor, nor what would happen to her. She assumed it would begin with some sort of interrogation… what that meant, though, remained to be seen.

After she'd been sitting for a bit, she got up and paced. But this agitated her, and ultimately, hurt her heart. So, she sat back down, and attempted to recite some sort of made-up mantra, that would keep her heartrate down.

When an eternity had passed, she heard a loud noise, and the door in front of her swung open harshly, and the four men who had gone through with the Doctor, now came back out. She noted that one of them was now carrying a weapon he hadn't had before. It looked like a spear, but could clearly see the tip was alive with blue sparks. Something like that would surely stimulate the heartbeat of the being on the receiving end… like a defibrillator.

"State your name," one of them said, loudly.

"Why?" she asked, defiantly.

"Do it," he demanded, as the man with the spear stepped toward her.

"Dr. Martha Jones," she said.

"Why won't your friend tell us who you are?"

"I don't know," she said. Though, she reckoned it was to protect her.

"Is it because you are like him?"

"Like him how?"

"What is your species?"

"I'm human," she said, almost with a shrug.

"Tell the truth!" he shouted, loud enough to startle her, and hurt her ears.

She felt her heartrate increase, and her chest tighten slightly.

"I'm telling the truth!" she shouted. "I'm human!"

"She's lying! Force her to reveal!"

Another man grabbed her harshly and shoved her against the wall by her throat. Terror overtook her, and she was seized with another cardiac event. She struggled to breathe, and to calm herself, as two of the men held her steady against a wall, and another took what looked like a pistol from a holster at his hip. He aimed it at her head, and a red light shone like a laser out the front.

She quickly realised she was being "scanned," in some manner, much as she was scanned on the moon by the Judoon. But for a moment, she panicked, and the more she did so, the tighter she was held… and the more severe the cardiac event

The man with the scanner said, "The thing is glitching. It won't read her species."

"Of course it will," barked the first man. "Do it again."

Martha was scanned again, though the man with the apparatus repeated, "It won't read."

"Idiot. Stand aside," the first man ordered, approaching Martha with an even bigger instrument, which, frankly, looked like an even bigger gun.

Her heart was seizing…

He fired the apparatus at her, and it emitted a green ring that enveloped her and then disappeared. He then seemed to look at the readings, and he said, "She's not one of them. She's not even from the same sector of the universe as he is."

At this point, all four men just stared at her confusedly as she bent at the waist, coughing, fighting against an assault on her cardiovascular system…

"Are you really human?" one of them asked her.

"Yes," she told them, her voice breaking with the strain of what was happening to her body.

"Fine. Well, what do we do with her?" another of them asked.

"Throw her in with him. I don't know where else to put her," said the first man.

"Forgive me, I meant, will we execute her along with him, or… something else?"

Her chest constricted to a nearly unbearable level…

"Well, the question will be moot, if we don't help her now. Shall we just let her die here?

* * *

Night had fallen. The Doctor and Martha had been rather brutally "processed" as prisoners of the Congress of Sercaton. They were, though, thankful for being held together, rather than apart, like the last time they were arrested/kidnapped.

However, they were still unable to become excited, upset, agitated, or generally emotive in any way.

Which was extremely daunting, because the whole situation was incredibly disturbing, in more ways than one.

The stone that constituted the walls of their cell was black and rough. It was like uncut cinderblocks had been heaved, one on top of the other, unevenly, until a kind of vaulted cave had been achieved. The walls weren't just rough, but also cold and damp, as was the floor. The only illumination offered was that of the moon, which happened to be waxing at half that night, through a singular window to the outside world. It was about three feet by four feet, and high enough up that the Doctor couldn't touch it, even with a running start and a big jump.

"Would you stop that?" Martha scolded. "You're going to kill yourself!"

He had tried twice to grab onto the window sill, to no avail.

"It's… completely… open…" he breathed, his chest constricting. "No… glass… no… screen…"

"But there _are_ iron bars, Doctor," she reminded him. "And stop talking, you're exacerbating your heart attack."

"I've got one more go in me."

"No, you haven't! Now stop!"

The Doctor swore, realising she was right, and he acquiesced, in favour of regulating his heartrate.

And so, the window did not offer any hope of escape, but it did let in the cold during the night, most especially the wind.

The cell's door had a tiny window as well, that opened and closed only from the outside, and against one wall, there were what looked like two shelves, each meant for one humanoid. They were wooden, hard, damp like the rest of the place, and wholly uninviting.

They sat, side-by-side, their backs against the wall opposite the door, contemplating the situation they were in, and trying not to think about the fear.

"So, Sercaton," Martha said. "That's the name of this planet?"

"Yes," he said.

"You've been here before?"

"No," he said. "But I know about it because they ran afoul of the Gallifreyan High Council, years back, for their treatment of the masses."

"Is _that_ why they hate you so much?"

"Yeah," he groaned. "Once again, the Time Lords are posthumously screwing me over. Once again, the non-meddlers meddled just enough to get themselves into trouble, and I'm the one who's got to pay for it."

"What _treatment of the masses_ would that be?"

"Well, it might surprise you to know that a couple thousand years ago, a despotic ruler on this planet ensured that if anyone within the atmosphere of Sercaton were to allow their heartbeat to exceed a certain number of beats per minute, the heart begins to arrest, seize, eventually it explodes. There's a painful, ugly death that follows."

" _That's_ what this is all about?"

"Yep," he confirmed. "It was put in place by Lubon the Terrible, to control the population, to keep it from becoming upset, revolting… getting all overthrow-y. And, as it happens, it keeps the population from doing any unauthorized reproduction."

"Imagine that," she said, flatly. "Do the people know what he did?"

"It's unclear," the Doctor said. "All that is known is that the populace is exceedingly docile, they reproduce only in laboratories, and only certain individuals are allowed to do so. For a long while, the heartbeat thing was believed to be in the DNA of the species, and then it was thought to be a quirk in the quantum physics of the planet itself."

"But the Time Lords worked it out?"

"They did," he sighed. "They detected the technology while a crew was on an exploration expedition. They touched down, probably had issues with their hearts like you and I have been having, then investigated a bit. When they realised what was happening, they alerted the Shadow Proclamation, which resulted in a big, ugly battle, causing the death of Sabron the Insane, whom the Sercatonians believed was a prophet."

"So, for this, they want to kill you?"

"Rubbish to be me, at times."

A contemplative pause, then, "Were you even alive when that battle took place?"

"Yes, but I was nowhere near it," he said. "By then, I'd already stolen my TARDIS and begun rebelling on the other side of the universe."

"Okay… Doctor, when we crashed, how did you _not_ know where we were? It doesn't seem like there would be a lot of planets out there where heartrate is regulated this way."

"I was thinking about it all wrong," he said. "I was thinking it was something in the atmosphere, or a contagion that affected the TARDIS, then me, then you. I was thinking of a hierarchal virus or something or a really aggressive allergen. Not to mention, I'd heard five centuries, or so, ago that Sercaton had closed its atmosphere and airspace to all incoming craft and debris. I'd written it off as an inaccessible non-entity long-since. Also, my first priority was fixing the TARDIS – ninety per cent of my problem-solving powers were directed there."

A long silence passed, and then Martha wanted to know, "How did they find us? We had a perception filter working, didn't we? With the keys?"

"The keys are a weak filter, each meant for one humanoid," he said. "Not for an entire TARDIS. They gave us a boost, at best. And, Sercaton have a pretty sophisticated radar system these days, which is probably why they were able to open their atmosphere again. We were probably on it, the minute we entered their airspace – they came looking for us. The keys make us slightly harder to find, but not invisible."

"Damn it," she breathed. Another contemplative silence came over her, then, again, she began to ask questions. "But how do you do something like that? How can you give an entire population the same affliction without… wait, you said it's _not_ a contagion of some sort?"

"It's the result of advanced, conscious biotechnology," he said. "I mean, no one knows for sure, but if I had to guess, I'd say, heavy saturation in the course of several years, coupled with airborne censors. They'll have these tiny things that can fly about and detect beats per minute, and they'd be able to use a certain quantum communicator to flood the planet's atmosphere over time. This would create a very strong 'norm,' and a very strong reaction to deviation from that norm."

"Wow," she mused. "That actually made sense to me."

He turned and looked at her for the first time since they'd sat down there on the floor, against the dank, moist wall. "That's because you're bloody brilliant."

"Right back at you, Doctor."

"And I shouldn't say this, but… you're bloody gorgeous, too."

She smiled. "Careful."

He sighed, and reached out for her hand. "Blimey, I wish we could comfort each other. I mean… better than this."

"I wish we could do a lot of things," she whispered.

"Well, hey, as long as we're wishing for things, I wish we hadn't come in such close proximity to the planet," he said. "And that it hadn't ensnared the TARDIS' heart function and caused her to crash-land. If I'd been paying more attention, we could have avoided all this rubbish, and could have been shagging on the bank of that Canadian lagoon for the past twenty-four hours…"

He inhaled, and caught his breath, now used to the sensation of his hearts warning him not to think of anything too titillating.

"Shh," she lulled, as he regulated his breathing.

After a few minutes, the Doctor picked up speaking again. "You know, the fact that we can't be properly together… I would have thought it would be awful, but it's worse than that. It's maddening. It's this righteous indignation that I feel… it's a violation…"

"Doctor, stop," she warned. "You're getting worked up again."

"But I wish that not being able to shag our brains out were the biggest of our worries," he said. "Because this lot, the Sercatonians, they don't just want to kill me. They'll want to make a big blooming spectacle out of ridding the universe of the stain of the Time Lords."

"Blimey. And they've got the last of the Time Lords right where they want him."

"Yep. Imprisoned, frightened, and unable to survive any sort of escape attempt."

* * *

 **Yeah, but well, we all know this is when the Doctor does his best work. Doesn't he? Well...?**

 **Hope you're enjoying yourself with this story. Let me know in a review! :-)**


	6. Charges

**Martha and the Doctor are in captivity... ugh, here we go again, right? Escape is going to be super dicey, since they can't get their heartrates up! Aaagh!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

CHARGES

Martha and the Doctor slept on their hard "shelves" that night – cold, damp, and worlds apart.

More accurately, they lay there, most of the night, thinking, pulling their coats tighter against themselves against the cold.

The Doctor's thoughts tended toward strategy and escape, of course. However, when his mind didn't go there, it went to the past… the sins (as well as the good deeds) of the Time Lords, and how his people had caused havoc in the last couple of months of his life… posthumously. And it looked like it was far from over. He hadn't been exaggerating when he'd told Martha that they wouldn't just want him dead, but they'd want to make a big deal of it, put on a show of ridding the universe of the Time Lord stain.

Martha simply couldn't get her mind off the fact that they were imprisoned… again… and these people, unlike the last group who locked them up, wanted to kill them. And unless the two doctors could work out how to keep their heartrates down whilst running for their lives, it looked like the Sercatonians would get their execution.

She slept a total of about two hours, intermittently, and when the sun came up, she did not feel rested in the least – though she did feel warmer. The Doctor hadn't slept a wink, but she knew, it would be a few more days of not-sleeping before he'd really feel the effects… by then, who knew if they'd even be alive?

The temperature had climbed to a bearable level, so they decided to get up, shed their coats for the day, and leave them on their sleeping shelves. Shortly thereafter, two bowls of some sort of cold, grey mush were held out to them through the bars on their cell door – it turned out to be basically rice, in a bland gravy.

"Leftovers from the staff's dinner last night," the Doctor said, shrugging. "At least it's not moving."

When the guard came to collect the bowls, Martha called out, "Er, I don't suppose you'd let us use the toilet?"

The guard pointed to his left, their right, and grunted, "Just there."

"What? This?" the Doctor asked, noticing a metal protrusion coming from the wall for the first time.

"Mm," the guard said, before walking away.

The Doctor tugged at the protrusion, which turned out to be a lumpy, dirty doorknob. Part of the wall opened into a cupboard, very tight, but private, and a hole in the floor.

The two of them decided to play word games for the next hour or so, until they heard a booming, terrifying voice tear through the cell.

"Time Lord!" it hurled.

"Oi! Blimey!" the Doctor shouted back, covering his ears reflexively. "I can hear you fine, there's no need for that bloody racket!"

"You will come!"

"Okay," he responded. "All you had to do was ask!

"Human!" the voice thundered.

"Yes?" Martha asked meekly, also covering her ears

"You will come as well!"

"Okay."

With that, the cell door opened and three guards walked inside. One of them made directly for the Doctor and manhandled him over to the door. A second guard did the same with Martha. He squeezed her arm and pulled so hard, she was sure she would have a bruise.

"Oh, my God," she couldn't help but whine. Tears came to her eyes – she thought the worst.

"Don't be upset," the Doctor advised her, knowing she'd fear they were being marched to their deaths. "It's just as likely we're going to trial now."

"Shut up," admonished one of the guards. "Just walk."

They were marched down the hall, kept apart from one another by the third guard, their arms kept bound by sheer brute strength.

 _It's just as likely we're going to trial now. Just relax. Relax._

She tried to resign. She tried to breathe normally, tried to be okay…

They were brought to an innocuous-looking grey door that was labelled in the local language. One of the guards knocked on the door, then all three walked away, in three different directions. Each one of them took up a post at the end of a hallway, where they could still observe their captives.

Nothing happened for a long few moments, and the Doctor took this opportunity to grab her hand.

Martha took the opportunity to ask, "What does the sign say?"

"It says _Judge Rabic,_ " he told her. "Told you… trial."

"Oh," she said, nodding, trying to pretend to herself, and to him, that meeting _another_ bad-guy-in-charge was in any way reassuring.

"Wait, you can't read that sign?"

"No!" she said, suddenly worried about yet another thing. It hadn't registered until just now that none of the signage around them had been translated for her, since they arrived.

"But you can understand these guys when they speak to you?"

"Yes!"

He sighed, and stared at the door in front of them, saying nothing.

"So? What does that mean?" she asked, impatiently.

"Nothing we didn't already know," he said. "The TARDIS is in a coma, and her imprint upon your brain is fading. Sometime soon, you'll probably lose the ability to understand the spoken language as well."

"Bloody fantastic," she sighed. "As if this experience weren't disturbing enough. Well, will I be able to understand you?"

"Of course. I speak English, remember? I'm speaking English now. See? Cricket. Fog. Crumpet. Harry Potter," he said with exaggerated enunciation. "How much more English could it get?"

"Oh. I guess I've never really known whether it was just the TARDIS translating for me, even with you."

"Nope," he said. "What you're hearing is the genuine Queen's English, love."

"That's actually quite reassuring," she said, resting her head on his shoulder.

A guard loudly cleared his throat, and she quickly pulled away.

After a few beats, she asked, "So, the TARDIS leaves an imprint upon my brain? Even when she's dormant?"

"Yes, just like you leave on hers," he said. "Only you can lose her, over time, if the connection gets severed, as it has been. She can never lose you. Unless…"

"Unless what?"

"Unless she never wakes up," he said, swallowing hard.

That was when the door opened harshly, and there stood another Sercatonian – rubber helmet, dark, round goggles, sharp grill, tall, thin, terrifying.

"Enter," he said, moving aside for them.

The Doctor stepped forward first, bringing Martha in by the hand behind him.

They found themselves inside of an office, what they assumed to be the Judge's "chambers," and it actually looked somewhat cosy.

The Judge kept one eye on them as he rounded his desk and sat down. He folded his skeletal hands in front of him and looked them both over.

"So. Doctor."

"So. Judge," the Doctor replied, not knowing quite what else to say.

"And Martha, is it?"

"Yes," she said, nodding slightly.

"We're so glad you're here on Sercaton," the Judge said.

"I'll just bet you are," the Doctor muttered.

"I, as you may know, am Judge Lof Rabic. I am in charge of this little stronghold of the Sercatonian Empire," said the being behind the desk. "And I am, therefore, in charge of you."

"Brilliant," said the Doctor, flippantly. "Then perhaps you can direct us to the nearest Starbucks. I could use a bit of a pick-me-up."

"Silence, Time Lord scum," Rabic said, though not with much expression. "You will stand there in reverence and obedience while I interrogate you as I see fit, then recite the charges against you."

The Judge seemed then to wait for the Doctor or Martha to say something, to defy him, but neither of them did.

"The blue box in which you were found, is this a type-40 TARDIS? Or an older model?" asked the Judge.

The Doctor did not answer. He returned a long-range stare to Rabic, that he hoped would let the man know that he was not about to disclose anything regarding his trusted vessel.

"Why have you chosen the shape of a blue box for the exterior camouflage? It doesn't seem very practical," the Judge continued.

"Yeah, well, I like blue," the Doctor shrugged.

"According to my men, there was a faint bit of light in the main room," Judge Rabic continued. "Why not full light? Come to that, why not pitch dark?"

"A swarm of greenish fireflies installed itself in the console," the Doctor said. "I rather like it – gives the place a romantic air."

"Impertinent Time Lord," the Judge spat, under his breath. A long pause, then, "Now, about the dimensional compression technology. Does this also mean that the TARDIS has mass de-compression?"

The Doctor remained silent.

"Tell me!" the Judge shouted, standing up suddenly.

"Come on, Judge," the Doctor said, calmly. "Am I really going to give you the tools and information you need to _steal_ my vessel? It's the only thing in this whole universe that I own, and even at that, I'm using the term _own_ very loosely, so…I'm keeping my lips zipped for once."

Martha couldn't actually see the Judge's eyes, as they were behind the round goggles of his rubber helmet. But his silence indicated that he was a bit nonplussed. Martha reckoned that the man hadn't counted on the Doctor knowing why he was asking those questions… she'd seen plenty a villain fall suddenly silent that way, when they were surprised by his quick thinking.

"Why not answer my questions, Doctor? You'll not be leaving this planet alive," Rabic said. "The thing will become our property one way or another. If I were you, I'd give me the required info, so that my mechanical team doesn't have to dismantle it. But, it's up to you."

"I'll take my chances," the Doctor muttered.

The Judge gestured with his hands, as if to say _as you like,_ then sat down again. He picked up a piece of paper from his desk, and began to read.

"Doctor, Martha, you are being charged with three counts of warlike invasion of airspace," he began.

" _Warlike_?" the Doctor shouted. "What the hell are you on about? And how is it _three_ counts?"

"Silence!"

"Oh boy," the Time Lord sighed, annoyed.

"Three counts of reckless flying. Three counts of violent incursion upon Sercatonian soil," he continued. "Three counts of extended trespassing upon Sercatonian soil."

At that, the Judge took a pause.

"Is that it?" asked the Doctor.

"Hardly. Those are just the charges against the two of you," he said. "You, Time Lord, have a much more interesting litany of transgressions on your own."

"Do tell, then. Don't reckon I can stop you."

"Twenty-seven counts of invasion of airspace, reckless flying, violent incursion and trespassing of Sercatonian soil," the Judge read.

"Twenty-seven?" asked the Doctor. "Blimey, I've been busy."

"Interfering with government order, tampering with proprietary technology, inciting violence, inciting mass hysteria, inciting plague…"

" _Plague?"_

"Interference with law-enforcement, assaulting law-enforcement officers, murder of law-enforcement officers, unlawful sharing of planetary coordinates, the wrongful death of a prophet, and littering."

"Now, hold on! I _never_ litter! I pride myself on that!" the Doctor protested.

"How could he have done all that stuff?" Martha asked. "He's either been in his ship, or in your custody since we landed here!"

"They're charging me with all of the crimes of the Time Lords, both real and imagined" the Doctor said. "A crew of twenty-seven came here and wanted to stop their barbaric way of keeping their thumb on the people… well, I told you the story."

"Are you seriously holding him responsible for something he had no part of?" Martha shouted.

The Judge held his hand for both of them to be silent. "The Time Lords perpetrated great injustices upon the Sercatonians. They shall pay."

" _They_ ," the Doctor scoffed. "Well, sir, _we_ are not amused."

"Ordinarily, a criminal of your magnitude would stand trial this very day, so as to expedite the execution. But we've been authorised to delay your trial and execution for two more days, at least."

"You're presuming both trial _and_ execution will occur at the same time?" Martha asked, incredulous. "You can't do that."

"We can, and we will. The Doctor will be found guilty of egregious crimes against Sercaton, and will be dead before sundown. But not today."

Martha and the Doctor looked at each other, the former seeming fretful in spite of herself, the latter simply annoyed.

"Why delay?" the Doctor asked. "Why not get it over with?"

"Because your trial and execution are to be public," said the Judge. "We are poised to rid the universe of the stain of the Time Lords…"

"Told you," the Doctor sang to Martha, under his breath.

"…and we want the universe to know about it. We have invited both allies and foes from galaxies around, to come and witness the disgrace and demise of the last of the Time Lords – and it will take a bit of time to get them here. They will see us in our glory! A new era of Sercatonian rule and peace will rash through this sector of the cosmos, just in the simple death of you, Doctor, and your Companion."

"Wait, _her too_?" the Doctor asked. "What's she done that's punishable by death?"

"Technically nothing," the Judge shrugged. "But we can sell it to the spectators as stopping her from _furthering the Time Lord cause_. Idiots will accept anything."

He tried to be sensible, and tried to control his panic and increasing heartbeat. But, in his mind, this whole situation had just got a hell of a lot more urgent.

"Technically nothing, but you can sell it?" the Doctor asked, angrily. "That's the most barbaric thing I've ever heard!"

"Very like a Time Lord – passing judgement. That's how your people got into this predicament, Doctor. Your behaviour lets me know that we are making the right decision by destroying you."

"Now, come on! You can't execute a woman just for sport! Just for your bloody spectators!"

"We can, and we will," the Judge repeated.

"What are you going to do when your crowed gets all excited seeing our heads roll?" the Doctor asked. "Thought about that? What, are you going to have paramedics with a hundred thousand defibrilators on standby?"

"What worry is it of yours?" asked Judge Rabic. "Guests of the Sercatonian Regime are treated well. If I were you, I would worry about the reckoning you'll make with your gods before your deaths."

"Yeah, we'll get right on that," the Doctor muttered.

* * *

Soon after that, the Judge grew very tired of the Doctor's tedious, presumptuous, impertinent questions, and called for the guards to put the two condemned prisoners back in their cold, dank cell.

"Okay, so… execution," Martha said, as soon as the door was shut. She stood with her hands on her hips, tapping her foot angrily.

"Yeah."

"What do we do?" Martha asked, still tapping.

He didn't say anything, but rather, just sighed, and began to pace.

She didn't push, she just followed suit. For a long while, they both just thought – contemplated their predicament, their scant options and why those options wouldn't work.

Eventually, Martha asked, darkly, "What method of execution will they use?"

"Martha."

"What? If I'm going to die on some distant planet, then don't I deserve to know how?"

"I don't know how," he confessed. "But… well, I hate to say it, but it'll be some way that's spectacular to watch."

"Which means bloody."

"Maybe."

"Or slow. Or causes convulsions."

"Easy, Dr. Jones," he said. "Don't go there, okay? Just… have a little faith."

"In you?"

"Yeah. Why not?"

She smiled. "Okay. But, part of that is my assurance that you have all the info… right now I'm not assured. And don't you think that if we knew the method of execution, we might have a better chance at making a plan to escape?"

"True," he said. "Hadn't thought of that."

"Well, maybe job-one can be figuring _that bit_ out," she said. "How are they planning to kill us? Which might also answer the question, what equipment will we have on-hand when the moment of truth arrives?"

"Okay… maybe I can get the guard back here somehow, and I can find ways to pick his brain…"

And then a high-pitched noise jolted them out of their stupor, their conversation, their dark state of mind.

"Oh! Oh, my God, I forgot! I have my phone!" Martha chirped, as she pulled the ringing Razor from her back pocket, where she had had to shove it when the rubber-helmet squad handcuffed her. "Hello?"

"Martha, it's me," said her cousin's voice through the phone. "Are you guys okay?"

"Not really," she said. "But if I tell you about it, we'll both have a heart attack, so perhaps it's best not. How about you two?"

"I'm really sorry to bother you, but Donna seems to have fallen ill," he said. "I know you two have got stuff on your plate, but…"

"Damn it! The prescription! I can still call Royal Hope. They can still…" she said, trying to calm. "What's going on? What are the symptoms?"

"She's lethargic… seems weak, and she's clutching her head and crying off and on," Colin told her.

"It could be just a migraine," Martha said. "But given that she hasn't had her meds in a couple of days, and her condition is bizarre, at best, she could be going into hypertensive crisis."

"What does that mean?"

"High blood pressure to the max… danger of stroke."

"Well, shit! What do I do for her?"

"For now, see if you can get the headache to abate with something over-the-counter," Martha suggested. "If that doesn't do it, ring me back. I'm going to try and get one of my mates at work to intervene."

"Okay. Now, why aren't you two doing too well? And don't forget who you're talking to," Colin insisted. "Don't tell me to go away."

"We're being held prisoner, and, well… they're planning our executions a couple of days out," Martha said, calmly, because she had no other choice.

"What the fuck?" Colin shouted through the phone, causing Martha to pull the apparatus away from her ear momentarily.

"You knew we'd been kidnapped, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but… okay, so, you can't raise your heartbeat over one hundred beats per minute, and now you're facing _execution?_ "

"Yes. It's rubbish."

"Rubbish? That's the understatement of the millennium!"

"Well, when I overstate things, my heart… wait a minute," Martha said, interrupting her own thought. "One hundred BPM? What makes you say that?"

"After you were arrested, Donna and I called the TARDIS a couple more times, just to hear the pulse," he explained.

Suddenly the Doctor's eyes shifted to Martha's, and he approached her and leaned his head in to hear Colin better. She didn't know he'd been listening, and could detect Colin's side of the conversation.

"And?" she asked.

"Well, I timed it at one hundred beats, but you know, I'm not a medic, so I wasn't sure," he said.

"What made you do that?" asked the Doctor.

"I dunno," he said. "Heartbeats, your heart attacks, the pulse… it all made me feel like there was some _truth_ I was missing, like it was all connected, and then Donna told me I wasn't daft, so I pursued it."

"Not daft at all," the Doctor said. "Good man. Clever man."

"Thanks," Colin said, uncomfortably. "Anyway, the second time we called it, the two of us just sat there, listening to the pulse for a while… Donna seemed to think the TARDIS might know we were there, and appreciate us checking in or something."

"She might not be wrong," the Doctor commented.

"But while we were doing that, _Stayin' Alive_ came on the radio, and it was in perfect sync with the pulse. I Googled it – it's one hundred beats per minute," Colin announced. "But enough about that. How are you going to get not-executed?"

"We haven't worked that out yet," Martha confessed, as the Doctor began to pace again. "We were just discussing that when you rang."

"Okay, I'll tell you what," Colin said. "I'm going to put my energy into getting rid of Donna's headache, to see if she perks up, and doesn't go into high-blood-pressure-panic, or whatever…"

"Hypertensive crisis," Martha corrected.

"I'm going to assume she'll be back to normal then, and the two of us can put our heads together and help you work out a way to get your arses back on _this_ planet," he said.

"Good plan," Martha said. "Meanwhile, I'm going to ring up my friend Julia. I'll have her ring you when the prescription has been called in."

"Thank you," he said, quietly. "Martha, this is mental."

"I know. This is the life you signed up for," she counselled.

"Yeah," he sighed. "I don't know if I'm cut out for it. And all I'm doing is talking to you on the phone – you two are the ones in true peril, and Donna here, well…"

"We're going to be okay. We just need to pool our wits."

"Why do they want you dead?"

"They want the Doctor dead," Martha told him. "I'm a bonus."

"Why do they want the Doctor dead?"

"A lot of species in the universe want the Doctor dead, Colin," she said. "And it's _always_ a long story. Take care of Donna. Keep in touch."

"Okay," he said. "Take care of _yourselves._ "

Martha then dialled the number of Royal Hope hospital, worlds away in London. She left a message for her friend and colleague, Julia Swayles, explaining that she was trying to get a script for Propranolol HCL to a friend currently staying at a resort in Portugal, but couldn't, because of a problem with her credentials.

Martha then cut off the call, and commented, "I dunno. She's scrupulous almost to a fault. She might not want to write a script for someone she hasn't examined herself. Maybe Julia is too much of a longshot."

She sighed, shut her phone and shoved it into her front right pocket…

…where it squished a plastic packet of something.

"Oh, my God," Martha said, freezing in her tracks.

"What?" the Doctor asked.

She pulled the five-dose envelope of Donna's medication from her pocket, and looked at the Doctor with wide eyes. "I forgot I still had them."

He looked back at her with equally wide eyes. "Oh, Martha Jones…" he breathed. "This is one of the most exciting things I've ever seen you do, and mind you, that is saying something."

She chuckled. "Easy, now. We still have to get out of here."

He reached out and took them from her. "Did I hear you say Propranolol HCL?"

"Yes."

"Is that what these are?"

"Yes."

"That's a beta blocker. Heavy duty stuff."

"I know. I chose it for Dona because it controls heartrate and migraines…"

The Doctor's eyes were wide. "Things just got a lot easier. What we need now is a plan."

* * *

 **So... almost crickets again! If you're following and/or reading, please review! Just let me know you're out there! Only fair. ;-)**


	7. Another Chance With the Waterfall

**Our heroes have just had a big stroke of luck!**

 **Things are gonna change fast, for better or worse. I think you'll like this chapter!**

 **Here we go...**

* * *

ANOTHER CHANCE WITH THE WATERFALL

"Things just got a lot easier. What we need now is a plan," the Doctor had announced, in response to the revelation that they now had _drugs_ that might help get them out of there.

"Okay," Martha said. "Human beta blockers work on you?"

"They should," he said. "Though I'd need twice the dose because of the…"

"…the two-hearts situation," she finished. "But listen, it's all very well and good that we now have a way to keep us both from dying of a heart attack mid-escape, but what about the TARDIS? Isn't she a bit of a sitting duck out there? It was pretty clear that they want her. I don't know what they think they'll be able to accomplish with her, without you to run the controls, but…"

"…I know, I know," he said, just a bit agitated.

"It's too bad we can't give _her_ a beta blocker made of pure time energy or something," Martha sighed.

"If we had a hell of a lot more time, and our lives weren't at stake, that wouldn't be a half-bad suggestion Dr. Jones," he said. Then, he shook out his hair with both hands and allowed himself a small cry of frustration, even though it momentarily tightened his chest. "But, as it is, even if we can take those drugs and slip out of here and get back to her, she's still out-of-commission as long as she's on this planet. No matter what solution we try, we'd still need to buy a hell of a lot of time to get her up and running before we can leave this bloody rock, and be properly safe."

"Well, she has an armoury, as it turns out," Martha said. "I assume there are weapons in there that do a lot more than stun."

"Yes," he said. "But there are only two of us. And once they realise we're armed and resisting, they'll send in a small army, and we'll be right back in this cell. Or worse. And the TARDIS will become the dismantled property of Judge Rabic and the Congress."

Suddenly, the door to their cell opened yet again, and a tall, thin rubber-helmeted guy stepped in. "You will come."

The Doctor's first thought was to pocket the pills before they were seen. He slipped them into his suit jacket's hip pocket.

"Again? What is it now? Need me to fix a toaster?" he whined. "Can't you just get a man in? One who isn't me?"

The rubber helmet reached forward and grabbed Martha by the arm, the same way she'd been handled before.

"What? Why me?" she shrieked.

"No, no!" the Doctor shouted. "Not her! Not her! What are you going to do?"

His hearts were beating hard, and his chest was tightening, but he didn't care.

He tried throwing himself at the tall, thin operative. But given the Doctor's rapidly weakening hearts, the guard was able to flick him off, onto the ground, with one effortless motion of the arm.

"Leave her alone!" the Doctor protested, as best he could. "Whatever you're doing, take me! Take me! I'm much more…"

With that, the door was shut, and the Doctor's voice was cut off. The guard had hauled Martha back out into the hallway, and they could now hear pounding from the inside. Martha let a few tears fall, and silently prayed that the Doctor would calm down before something terrible happened to him.

* * *

Martha had been instructed to wait. Again. She had been led through an office that was a bit like Judge Rabic's, and through a secret door. She found herself in a room that was tiled, and to her utter horror, there was a drain in the floor.

She spent at least an hour trying not to think about the drain, trying not to think about how easy this room would be to clean, trying not to think of the Doctor losing his mind in the cell, and causing himself a dual myocardial infarction on her account.

At last, three men walked into the room. She recognised the voice of Judge Rabic, when one of them said, "Good afternoon, Martha. I imagine you're surprised to find yourself taken from your cell again so soon."

"Surprised. Yeah."

"Well, after the utter non-cooperation of your friend, the Doctor, I decided that something had to be done. You're here to give us the information we need."

"I know practically nothing about the TARDIS, Judge Rabic, I swear to you," she said. "All I know is that it takes us from one place to another. I have no knowledge of how it runs or works, or why it's blue."

"Oh, we know that," the Judge said. "Humans are not privy to the advanced and insidious technology of the Time Lords. In fact, historically, Time Lords aren't that fond of humans, except perhaps as lower beings to be protected from themselves. Though, the Doctor seems to be rather attached to you."

After a long pause during which the Judge seemed to stare at her expectantly, Martha asked, "What do you want me to do? Disagree with you?"

"Not at all," he said. "I'm merely making an observation."

The Judge ordered her to sit just to the side of the drain in the floor. She obeyed. Then he circled around her several times, studying her.

"What do you want from me?" she asked. She couldn't help herself.

"Tell me, is it true that Time Lords have a back-up source of oxygen in their physiology?"

"What?" she asked.

"Answer the question."

"Erm… I don't know. I don't think so."

"Tell the truth, now."

"I don't think so," she repeated.

"Be sure."

"I can't. I'm telling you… _I don't think so!"_

With that, Rabic said, "Ajess, press the button."

One of the other men pressed a red button on the wall, and a gush of foul-smelling, ice-cold water fell on Martha's entire body. Her muscles seized for a few moments, and she couldn't help but draw in a surprised breath, which caused her to choke, even after the gush stopped. Her heartrate increased, but she was becoming used to the sensation of a tightening chest by now.

When she gathered herself, she shouted, "What was that for? I'm telling you the truth!"

"Is it true that Time Lords are weakened by a substance known as Chronos Epivra?"

"What? I don't know. I don't think so. No."

"Well do you know, or don't you?"

"No, not really," she said. "I've never heard of that substance."

"You've never heard of Chronos Epivra?"

"No."

"How could you not have heard of it?"

"I'm not from around here," she insisted. "I know about science on my own planet!"

"Is it true that the Doctor has a psychic connection with time and space?"

"I don't know how it works."

"I didn't ask if you knew how it works. I asked you if the connection exists."

"You must know that it does," Martha said.

"We've merely suspected."

"Oh. Great. You got me," she sighed.

"But is it truly a _psychic_ connection. That is to say, is it a brain function, or is it something more at the level of consciousness, or the soul?"

"I told you, I don't know how it works!"

"You don't know?"

"I don't know!"

"Ajess?"

And the same guard pressed the button on the wall again, and another deluge of dirty, glacial water nearly drowned her where she sat.

She coughed and sputtered, then recovered. Though, she coughed and sputtered a little longer than she needed to this time, because she wanted to give herself a few extra seconds to think.

She had talked with the Doctor about a possible method of execution, and he had reckoned that it would be something spectacular, and crowd-pleasing. Martha now realised that it would be something _personal_ , and spectacular, as the Judge was now asking her questions about the Doctor's specific qualities and weaknesses. This, to her, was more troubling than the disgusting cold water.

What if they asked her something she actually _knew_?

"Is it true that the Doctor has a binary vascular system?" the Judge asked her.

 _Two hearts. Shit._

She stared at him like a rabbit in headlights for a second too long. Then, she said, "I don't know."

The Judge stalked over to the wall and pressed the button himself, and this time, he didn't let go. The dousing of water came forth, but it didn't stop. She instinctively tried to wriggle away from the violent gush, but the two guards grabbed her and held her, guaranteeing that she was pounded everywhere with the rank, icy liquid, and that she couldn't breathe.

Her heartrate increased as her lungs screamed for oxygen; everything in her chest felt it was about to implode…

Until the water finally stopped, and the guards let her go. She fell to her hands and knees and gasped for air.

"I'll ask you again," the Judge said, this time not waiting for her to finish recovering. "Does the Doctor have a binary vascular system?"

"I… don't… know."

The guards hauled her to her feet again, and she was subjected a second time to a continuous stream of water. She hadn't had a chance to properly calm from the previous time, so this time, her chest hurt ten times more, as her terror mounted tenfold as well.

The water and the guards' grip stopped again, and again, she was down on her hands and knees, wondering very seriously if this was how she was going to die.

"Does the Doctor have a binary vascular system? And think _very_ hard, Martha Jones, before you tell me you don't know," the Judge said, silkily.

She didn't answer for a long while. She stared at the floor, unsure of what to say. She was not sure she would survive it if they did this to her a third time, and they knew it; that was the point. But she _was_ sure that if their roles were reversed, the Doctor would never give up any information about her.

"It might interest you to know, Martha, that this question is a test," he said to her, beginning to circle around her, like a caged predator. "We know that Time Lords have a binary vascular system – one of our primary planetary procedures is to regulate all heartbeats at all times, and we've had a few Time Lords come and go, over the years, as you are aware. We also know the nature of the relationship between you and the Doctor, and the fact that it would be impossible for you _not_ to know that two hearts beat beneath his chest. The purpose of asking this question was to see if you would tell the truth. And you failed."

"I guess I did," she choked out. She coughed a few times, then, "But, to be fair, I knew that _before_ we started shagging."

"Ah yes…" he paused, and seemed to shudder. "… _the act of mating_. A depraved, base tendency of lower life forms."

"That's very bleak, but... whatever."

"Of course, our planet has rid itself of this pestilent behaviour, and elevated itself to a more civilised way of maintaining pair-bonds, as well as of reproducing," the Judge explained.

"Sounds very fulfilling."

"In other parts of the universe, pair-bonds depend on such an act – there is an… _urge_ ," he commented, again, shuddering, disturbed by the subject. "Pair-bonds are more physical than cerebral."

"Not always. Love – or as you call it, _pair-bonding_ – is strange and difficult. If you do it right, it's equally cerebral and physical.

"Love," he mused. "Love, you say?"

"Yes. What of it?"

He circled around her a couple of times and studied her.

Finally, he asked, "Is it true that the Doctor once blew up a mountain when the Pyroviles kidnapped his Companion?"

"Probably," she said, shrugging. "Kind of sounds like him. There are lots of stories from the Doctor's life that I've never heard."

"That companion's name was Noble. Donna Noble," he said.

"Okay."

"And with her, he does not have the same type of relationship as with you. It is not _love_. There is no pair-bonding with her, no physical component."

"Right. And?" she said, realising she'd been manipulated into mindlessly telling the truth, a split second after it was out of her mouth.

"Thank you, Martha Jones," he said, looking her over. "You've told me everything I need to know."

As she was led, dripping wet, back to their cell, she realised that they'd brought her to that room to find out the Doctor's weakness… and she'd told them.

* * *

There was a guard waiting outside her cell with a tray. It had two small portions of some sort of dried meat, and two cups of water. He handed it to her, the cell was opened, and she stepped inside, with their afternoon meal.

The Doctor was sitting on his "shelf," cross-legged, and appeared to be meditating.

When the door slammed shut, she asked, "So… lunch?"

"What happened?" he asked, getting up and stumbling toward her. He took the tray from her and set it on the floor, then hugged her tightly. She could feel his hearts pounding dangerously… and hers as well.

"Shh," she lulled. "I'm fine."

"You're shaking, and you're soaked," he said. "You are not fine. What did they do to you?"

She sighed. "They asked me whether you have an extra cache of oxygen as part of your physiology."

"What?"

"When I said I didn't know, they doused me with icy-cold sewer water or something," she told him, the distaste showing on her face. "And they asked me about something called Chronos Epivra."

He pulled away from her. "They did?"

"Yeah."

"I can't believe they believe that," he said.

"Believe what? That it weakens a Time Lord?"

"Yeah," he said. "It's an old legend – total rubbish."

"So it's not a substance that can hurt you?"

"No! It's not even a real thing! It's a concept that the Council of Eikona decided to invent… for just this sort of occasion, actually."

"The Council of Eikona?"

"Yeah, like… Gallifreyan PR."

"Oh. Well, thank God."

"But… if they're asking that, it means they're trying to find out my weaknesses."

"Yes, it does," she said. "They also asked if you had a binary vascular system… I said I didn't know and they tried to drown me."

"What?" he asked, anger rising fast. "Wait, why would you say you didn't know?"

"Because I didn't want them to use it against you!"

"Martha, if you're being tortured, _tell them what they want to know!_ For God's sake, do not suffer on my account!"

"It wasn't _actually_ torture, Doctor – okay, maybe part of it was. But anyway, you'd do it for me!"

"That's different!"

"Why, because you're a man?"

"No, because I can regenerate!"

"Well, whatever. It turned out to be moot because they already know you have two hearts and that they can use that fact to kill you uniquely," she said.

"Damn it," he spat, beginning to pace. Martha could a vein appear in his forehead, and undoubtedly he was dealing with a tightening chest just now… and yet he paced. Apparently, he'd decided not to care.

"That's not all, Doctor," she said, unable to contain herself. "They know about us."

"About us?"

"Yeah, that we're… you know."

"So?"

"They asked me if you blew up a mountain because someone kidnapped Donna," she said.

"I did blow up a mountain… after someone kidnapped Donna, but it wasn't _because._ "

"Well, then they made a point of the fact that you don't feel about Donna the way you feel about me. Or, rather, they made a point of getting me to admit that."

His teeth were gritted, and he began to pant. "So, they want to see what will happen if someone does something _to you,_ someone who's not just my friend, someone I love, someone…" he stopped, to catch his breath. "They wanted to know my weakness. They want to know what would be the most painful way to kill me."

"Yes," she said, her heart racing now too. She was still somewhat reeling from the beating her own vascular system had taken during the near-drowning (twice), and now, she couldn't abate the cardiac arrest. She almost didn't want to. Part of her wanted to let it come, let it hurt.

"So, they know that the worst thing they can do to me is to inflict pain upon you," he growled. In full pace, he hyperventilated, and clutched at his chest.

"Yes," she managed. Then, "You're starting to panic. Lie down."

"So are you. And I don't want to lie down. I'm tired of being so fucking calm!" he shouted. And this surge caused him to clutch at his chest, and collapse onto his knees. "Martha… what will they do… to you?"

"I don't know," she said, joining him on the floor. "But please don't die here today. Please… calm down."

"I'm not sure I can," he said, grabbing onto her wrists.

"Doctor, I'm panicking too. I can't take care of you… I… oh my God," she cried, as she felt her heart nearly explode. She tried to croak out a few words, but nothing came.

He crawled over to the tray she had brought in, and was able to barely retrieve a cup of water, without spilling it all over. He then forced his hand into his suit coat pocket, and Martha realised what he was reaching for.

"No, no," she breathed. "We'll… need them… for later."

"Not… if we… die today," he managed to retort, extracting the little packet of beta blockers and tearing it open. His hands shook something terrible, and it was all he could do to keep the things from falling to the wet floor.

He shoved one of the pills into Martha's mouth, even though she protested. He ordered her to drink a mouthful of water and wash the pill down. It was in her mouth now… what was she going to do, spit it out and waste it?

She did as he wanted, and swallowed the pill. He then took two for himself, and lay down on the floor.

It took Martha half the time to recover. In five minutes she was up, walking around, fretting over her "patient." In ten minutes, the Doctor was on his feet, stretching, acting like all he'd needed to clear his head was a good, bracing heart attack.

"Doctor, that wasn't smart," she said. "We just used _three_ of the five pills. We don't have enough to get us both out of here."

"Then we'd better think this through, eh? Plan our escape well," he said.

"Okay, we have about twenty-four hours before the effects wear off," she said. "Let's use them wisely. Maybe, if we play our cards right, we can even get out tonight!"

"Maybe," he said, watching her. Finally, their eyes met, and he could see that hers were filled with tears. He stepped forward and gave her a hug. "It's okay. We're fine."

"I've never been so scared in my life," she confessed.

"I know," he whispered. "But there's no need to worry now. It's over."

She nodded, and pulled away. "I know. I know. How are you?"

"Well, for a start, I now feel safe in doing this," he said, taking her chin and cheeks in both of his hands, and kissing her with gusto.

He pressed his tongue against her lips, and she parted them gladly. This was a beautiful kiss, a scorching one… and getting to kiss her at all after the couple of days they'd had was an absolute boon. This marvel of an embrace, after being starved, it seized his whole body.

And hers as well. She sighed audibly, and fell into the kiss, grabbing onto his lapels with an added bit of ardour.

"We need to talk through our escape," she said breathlessly, pulling away… half-heartedly.

"We will," he insisted, seizing her mouth again.

This time, when he grabbed her, she lost her footing. Just like on the bridge, before all hell broke loose, she stumbled backwards and found herself pinned between the Doctor and an unmoving object. Her back was pressed to the jagged wall, and she knew that what was about to happen would hurt, but it would feel _amazing_ as well. Being stopped in their tracks – twice! – and then being completely kept from feeling anything for one another, even for just a couple of days, it had been a kind of torture. She felt like she was teetering on a precipice, just waiting for a push…

Well, this was it. This was the push.

He reached desperately for her button and zip, then he knelt and peeled her soaking wet jeans down her legs.

 _There's no way I'm getting those back on today,_ she thought absently, though, she didn't exactly care.

She kicked off her shoes, and let him finish unwrapping her from the heavy, cold denim. And, from her knickers.

Just as desperately as he had done, she grabbed for the hook and zip of his trousers, and reached inside, freeing him to take her…

And he did. He lifted her by the bum, pressed her into the wall, she wrapped her legs around his waist, and suddenly found herself filled.

She could feel him practically trembling with need, with the crazed urgency of the situation… his thrusts began immediately, and were greedy and artless. But they were deep and honest, and made her come within seconds. The release was easy and exquisite, and she laughed out loud with the relief. This was a sensation she'd rarely felt – pent-up, indulged, and so completely, happily broken. It was amazing, even to her, how close she had been, all that time…

From this point, it did not take long. He gave her another vision-blurring minute of total abandon… grunts, pants, curses, bites to her neck and shoulders, whispers of her name, her back aching and being scraped with rock. Then he gave one last hard thrust and let go. The deep, gut-punch of a moan he let out was absolutely delicious, and Martha had no idea how they hadn't both absolutely imploded without this.

* * *

 **Ooh! Thanks for reading. Don't forget to review! I want to hear from whoever's out there!**

 **Perhaps unnecessary disclaimer: I reiterate that I am not a medical professional. However, I did read up on beta blockers (especially the one they are using), their applications, and their affect on the subject's ability to engage in sex. What I learned is that there are ways to keep them from messing with your sexual prowess, and age and overall health are big factors. I'm thinking that Martha, who is in her mid-twenties at this point, wouldn't be affected that way. And the Doctor, well... he's old, but he's spry!**


	8. With Colin's Help

**Beta blockers allowed our heroes a much-needed *ahem* blowing-off of steam. So now what?**

* * *

WITH COLIN'S HELP

"Well, shagging in captivity," she sighed, pulling her forehead away from his shoulder. "It's becoming a habit for us."

"When getting captured becomes a habit, you do what you've got to do, I guess," he commented, shakily.

"It's surprisingly satisfying," she said. "Not that I'm keen to spend any more time under lock-and-key than we have to."

He pulled away from her, to put himself, and his clothing back together.

Martha picked up her jeans, shook them out, and laid them flat on her sleeping shelf. She then shed her purple shirt and underwear, and did the same, hoping they would dry overnight. The cell was damp, so they likely wouldn't dry completely, but this would be better than having icy-cold, soaking wet clothes plastered to her for the foreseeable future.

Their coats had been laid out on their sleeping shelves when they'd arisen that morning, so she pulled on the 1930's-era woolen grey coat she'd been wearing when they'd been kidnapped. Even with the satin lining inside, it was a bit harsh against her skin, but it was dry, and preferable to nudity.

When she finished, he put his hands on his hips, seeming surly.

"What?" she asked.

"Are we ever going to be together again, on our own terms?" he asked with a frown.

"Of course," she said. "What's brought this on?"

"It's just… what you said… it hit home," he told her. "The last two times we've… you know…. we've been prisoners, and it's been desperate and quick and hectic, with _weeks_ in between. While Donna was sick, we weren't able to find the wherewithal. We wait all that time for a chance, and then the bloody TARDIS crashes…"

"Well, this is the life we choose, isn't it?" she asked. "There's always a possibility that we'll be interrupted and have to run for our lives instead. It's what makes times like _this_ so sweet."

"Mm," he grunted.

"Am I wrong?"

"No," he sighed. "But… did I tell you that Colin asked me to consider settling down with you in London? Getting a job, having a couple kids, paying a mortgage?"

She laughed. "He did not!"

"He did," the Doctor confirmed.

Martha frowned, and stared into the corner momentarily. "Could _we_ even have kids?"

"Possibly. Lots of x-factors involved, though. Could get weird."

"Well, _that_ goes without saying…"

"Whatever. I'm starting to warm to the idea," he muttered.

"Of having kids?" she asked, incredulous.

"Of what Colin said. Just settling down for a while."

"You _are_ joking, right?"

"Maybe not."

"Doctor!"

"Well, after this is over, Martha, we can plan a week off if we want to. We can say we'll hole up in the TARDIS together and not wear clothes for a solid seven days, and shag until we're sick of each other. But what's our guarantee?"

"We don't have one," she shrugged. "No-one ever has one, no matter what kind of life they live. But you always try."

"Yeah, I guess. Sorry… I'm just… frustrated."

"Me too," she conceded. "But you know what?"

"What?"

"We've got the next twenty-four hours on beta blockers."

"Yes, we have, haven't we?"

She smiled. "I mean, we definitely need to talk, and consider escape, but…"

"That would be an awful lot of talking."

"Indeed."

* * *

They sat for a while, and did, indeed, talk through a scenario in which the two of them could walk all over the complex, without anyone stopping them. It was a crude plan – a child could have hatched it. But it was the simplest, most logical they could come up with. And, it _would_ require a bit of logistical planning-ahead.

"Simple means less chance of error," the Doctor shrugged. And Martha knew that he wasn't wrong.

Though, it still didn't solve the problem of what they'd do when they got back to the ailing TARDIS. They would surely be found again, and captured again, and most likely their execution would be expedited.

They ate their "dinner" sitting upon the Doctor's sleeping shelf, allowing the conversation to meander to places other than escape.

Once they were finished, though, Martha got up to check on the drying status of her jeans, knickers, bra and shirt, and said, "I hate to ask this, but what are we going to do about the TARDIS? We've got phase one possibly worked out. What about phase two?"

She came round the shelf and stood in front of him, looking worried.

"I dunno," he said to her. He reached forward and took her by the waist. "Come help me clear my head."

He unbuttoned her coat, then tossed it up onto her shelf, so it would not become damp. He pulled her down onto his lap then, and they lost themselves in each other for an hour or so.

By the time they were finished, it was dark, and the cell was freezing. They lay on his shelf, he on his back, and she on her side in the crook of his arm, both happily naked underneath his long brown overcoat. They were, for the moment, warm and unafraid.

"There's been something just on the tip of my consciousness for a while," he said, after a long lull, into the dark. "But I think I finally got it sussed out. Sort of."

"You mean… we really did clear your head?"

"Yeah. Why are you surprised?"

"I dunno," she chuckled. "I thought it was just an excuse to give into your body for a bit."

"It was that too. Two birds, one very lovely stone."

"So, what did you work out?"

"After talking with Colin on the phone earlier, I felt like… I knew something, knew what needed to be done, I just couldn't… I dunno, couldn't access the data somehow."

" _Colin_ helped you work it out?"

"In a way," the Doctor said. He took a deep breath, and began to explain. "He and Donna both talked about the TARDIS' heartbeats. It makes a sound that is basically imperceptible to us – truth be told, I've never heard it. It must be on a frequency that translates somehow through a regular old telephone, because Colin and Donna both heard it though phone lines… makes you wonder what our good friend Alexander Graham Bell was into, doesn't it?"

"Erm…"

"But Colin clocked it at 100 beats per minute," he continued. "Which is extremely slow – way too slow for a TARDIS. I mean, she's efficient, but not _that_ efficient. She is very, very sick. Extremely sick. So sick that almost all of her resources were going toward maintaining that heartbeat, and just staying alive. And keeping us alive."

"Do you think she dropped the gravity boosters and turned off the light in the time rotor when we left?"

"Probably," he answered. "I hope so. Maybe it'll give her a little extra _oomph_. For what, at this stage, I do not know."

"Poor girl."

"100 BPM…" the Doctor mused. "She can't function with her heartrate at that speed. We can't hope to have her rescue us from here at that speed. And even if I could find a way to get through to her, and coax her heart up to functioning speed, she'll crash again – she'll have another Sercatonian heart attack like before. Just like us. Just like every other living thing that comes to this planet and gets any sort of excited."

"Right. Catch-22."

"So, we have to get the TARDIS and this planet on equal footing," he said. "We have to make the planet function on the TARDIS' terms."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means, we have to get the TARDIS out of here, by whatever means necessary, and bring her back here once the planet has been recalibrated."

"Once _the planet_ has been recalibrated? That sounds insane!"

"I know. Don't you love it?" he said, with a kind of softly whimsical tone.

"I guess."

"It's good, because it means you and I only have to do so many steps, it means we don't actually have to _escape_ from this complex and get back out to the desert, or wherever she is. It means we can use our resources on Earth, and eventually, the TARDIS can come to _us,_ which is so much less risky for everyone involved, and it's what she would like to do anyway, if we weren't trapped on Planet of the Slow."

"How are you going to get the TARDIS out of here, when she won't function?"

"Well, if she's shut off the gravity and the lights, she might have some stored-up energy," he said. "She was only doing that stuff because it's an autonomic function for her to keep us alive. Like breathing. I'm hoping that that particular reflex can be applied in a completely different way, now that you and I are outside of her realm of worry."

"We are?"

"We're beyond her reach," he explained. "Because we're here, on Sercaton. She's pretty much useless to us here, the way things are."

"But you mentioned resources on Earth?"

"Keeping us alive… _us_ meaning me, of course, and you, and Donna, and any other companion I've got in the mix at any given time."

"Right."

"Right," he echoed.

When Martha had been wrested from the room, her phone had been dropped on the floor, which meant, fortunately, it had been saved from the deluge of putrid, icy water with which she was veritably tortured, thereafter. It had also, mercifully, survived the two-foot fall to the floor from Martha's grasp. The Doctor had then picked it up and squirrelled it away inside his own suit coat pocket, for safe-keeping.

He now leaned over to where he'd hung his clothing from the end-post of the shelf they were on, and found the phone. He noted that it was at under fifty-per-cent battery capacity, and that they didn't have infinite time to make calls.

Still lying there in the cold, smouldering dark with Martha, he hit redial, and Colin picked up.

"Hi, it's us," the Doctor said, switching to speakerphone.

"Doctor!" Colin exclaimed. "How are you? How's Martha?"

"We're okay," Martha said. "Alive. How's Donna? Damn it, I didn't have a chance to get a call in to Royal Hope…"

"It's okay," Colin said. "We decided just to try and find a hospital here – we reckoned her days without meds could be considered an emergency, given her high blood pressure."

"Good call," Martha said. "So she got what she needed?"

"Yes, this doctor recommended…" Colin paused, and the Doctor and Martha could hear rustling while he looked for something. "Propranolol HLC – the twelve-hour doses."

"Brilliant," Martha told him. "That's what I prescribed as well… except the twenty-four-hour doses. How long ago did she take one?"

"About eight hours. She's due for another one in four hours."

"And you've got a supply to last you the rest of your holiday?"

"And then some," Colin said, with some relief.

"What's Donna doing now?" the Doctor asked.

"She's asleep," he said. "She took her pill and crashed."

"I reckon she was in hypertensive crisis when she finally got it," Martha commented.

"That's what the Portuguese doctor said," Colin confirmed. "She was short of breath, the migraine was making her dizzy and nauseated, she was anxious…"

"Yeah, Colin, I'm afraid I'm going to need her to stay in crisis," the Doctor said.

"What?" Colin spat through the phone.

"What?" Martha echoed, sitting up, looking back down at him.

The Doctor sighed. "Colin, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, but if Donna's in crisis, hypertensive or otherwise, it can help us get out of here before we get executed."

"How _the fuck_ does that work?" Colin shouted.

"Calm down," the Doctor insisted. "Stop cursing. You know I would _never_ want her in distress unless it was absolutely necessary."

"Do I?" Colin asked. "Do I _really_ know that?"

"Yes," the Doctor shouted back. "Yes, you do! Now give me a break, yeah? Listen. As long as the TARDIS is on this planet, she's dormant. Her heart's restricted, just like ours, to one hundred beats per minute – she can't do anything except basic autonomic functions. Which includes doing certain things to keep me, Martha, Donna, and probably even _you_ , safe."

"Okay. Keep talking."

"When you two first went on holiday, I warned Donna that the TARDIS answers distress calls, which she already knew… at the time, I joked that she needed to keep her blood pressure healthy because I was sure that the two of you wouldn't want it popping in on you at an inopportune moment," the Doctor explained. "Now… things have changed. It's not a joke. I need the TARDIS to come to Donna."

"And it will only do that if she is, as you put it, in crisis?"

"It's going to take a bit more work from our end," the Doctor said. "But yes. Her life needs to be in danger."

"Shit."

"I know, I'm sorry."

"What do I do?" Colin asked, reluctantly.

"Keep her from taking her medication," the Doctor said. "And if she asks for it, just tell her the truth. I'm trying to make the TARDIS answer her distress."

"Because she hasn't been through enough distress already, in the name of saving your arse?" Colin growled.

"Colin, if you've got a better idea, let's hear it," Martha said. "This isn't ideal, but it's what we've got. Unless you'd like me and the Doctor just to sit here and await our execution."

Colin was silent for a few moments, then he gave an exasperated sigh. "Why do I have to keep pep-talking myself into realising that this is the sort of bullshit I signed up for?"

"Our lives are weird," Martha said. "Repeatedly weird. But what are you worried about? None of the three of us is going to let her die! You know how to contact us. If worse comes to worst, you've got the drugs you need to help her."

Colin could then be heard muttering to himself.

"What's that?" the Doctor asked, without anger. "If you've got something to say, say it. I can take it."

"It's just, I've finally met a genuinely good-hearted, intelligent, funny, sexy woman, who I'm _reasonably_ certain likes me for who I am and doesn't want to cheat on me the moment she gets the chance," Colin sighed. "And she's tangled up _with you!_ "

The Doctor sighed. "Colin, I'm running out of ways to say I'm sorry."

"And even at that, she's spent most of the time I've known her in some sort of semi-artificial medical peril," Colin continued. "And I'm left feeling helpless. And now that I've _got_ the means to help her, you're telling me not to!"

"You're helping _us_ ," Martha said. "And so is Donna. Again."

"How is this helping _you_?" Colin asked. "How does any of this mean that you two don't get dead? It seems to me that if you let the TARDIS come to Donna, you're giving up your only way out."

"You're right," the Doctor said. "The TARDIS is our only way out. That's why she needs to convalesce. Again. She needs to get away from this planet so she can recover, and find her full functions again. Or, at least, get away from this planet so it can stop suffocating her. As soon as she's there with you, you can give Donna her meds, and _she_ can start the road to recovery as well… should be about 48 hours until she's her cheeky, noisy self again."

"Okay… the TARDIS needs to be away from the oppressive heartbeat planet… with you so far," Colin said.

"Then when Martha and I are in position, as it were, you and Donna can bring the TARDIS to us, and all four of us can get the hell out of here," the Doctor explained. "And maybe try again at having a holiday."

Colin, having been with Donna on at least one occasion when the Doctor phoned and gave her directions to set coordinates to move the TARDIS, did not blink at this revelation.

 _God help me,_ he thought. _All of this is starting to make sense._

"Okay," Colin said. "I said I was on-board with you. I guess I've got no choice now but to trust you."

* * *

Into the night, the Doctor and Martha had the "holiday" they'd missed while Donna had been ill the first time round, and that had been interrupted when the TARDIS crashed on Sercaton. They took full advantage of regulated heartrates, a need to stay warm, and time to kill.

The down-side, of course, was that it deprived them of sleep.

"Not to mention the kinks and bruises from the various _surfaces,_ " Martha groaned, stretching in the morning.

She stood in the middle of the cell, still completely nude, with her back to him. She stepped intentionally into the warm sunlight, and he could now see the scrapes, plus black and blue marks, all over her back and bum, presumably from being pressed hard into the rough, rock-like wall. When she turned around to retrieve her clothes from the top shelf, he saw that her knees had bruises from the stone floor (as did his), and she was moving as though _everything_ were sore.

"Headache and backache from trying to manoeuvre, and then sleep, on a wooden plank?" he asked, standing up now as well.

"Yep," she confirmed. "All that… plus all the usual stuff that comes with, you know, this particular brand of all-night athletics. Not that I'd give it up for _anything_."

She turned and stood on tiptoe briefly to give him a kiss, then set about putting her jeans and purple v-neck back on, now that they were mostly dry.

He chuckled, pulling his own clothing off from the posts where he'd hung them, and he too climbed into his ensemble. Within a few minutes, they were both dressed, and a few minutes after that, a meal was brought to them – some sort of mushy, overcooked vegetable stalk, and a chalky substance halfway between potato and sauce. Mercifully, this particular morning did not include an audience with Judge Rabic, or any other interrogator, nor water hose.

Over the ensuing few hours, they talked a lot, they snogged a bit, he taught her the names of all the moons formerly surrounding Gallifrey…

…and the Doctor tried again to take a running start and grab onto the high window, to see what he could see… including whether escape was possible through this opening. This time, his heartrate stayed normal, and he was able to try again and again, but the window was far too high.

And, they were both acutely aware that they only had a few hours left with the effects of their first dose of beta blockers, and only two pills remaining.

* * *

 **I suppose you know what I'm gonna say now. So why not do it? Leave a review!**


	9. Reaching Out

REACHING OUT

Colin wasn't happy.

Eight hours had passed since the benevolent Doctor had dropped his little bomb: the best course of action was to keep Donna sick. After all they had been through, after the sacrifice Donna had already made for them, after the effort they'd gone to in order to get her medication… after all the strife he personally had been through trying to meet a woman like her, some _Doctor_ asks him to throw Donna under the bus, and he just does it!

If the Doctor weren't trying to save Colin's favourite cousin along with himself, he'd have half a mind to ignore Doctor's orders. Donna should have had another pill about four hours ago. Colin wanted desperately for her to take it, so they could resume their lives, their holiday together, and their burgeoning relationship.

But as it was, the Doctor's semi-insane solution sounded like it might actually work, and Colin had to admit, he was already sort of reluctant not to listen to the Doctor and do what he asked. Two women whom he knew to be extremely bright, as well as incredibly kindhearted, both believed in him fiercely, and he'd proven himself more than once to Colin…

Still, it was murder watching Donna's condition deteriorate.

"If you don't like it, don't watch," Donna said, rather weakly, with a smile. "In any case, what good is it doing, you sitting there in a chair, staring at me? Put a match on! Go for a walk! _Someone_ ought to enjoy this resort!"

She was lying down, sleeping on and off. At the moment, she was pale, and falling fast into what the Doctor and Martha had called Hypertensive Crisis. Colin had done some reading up on it, via the internet. He'd learned that Donna was now at serious risk for heart attack or stroke, and that the symptoms (of which he'd already seen quite a few) might only mount, and worsen.

"I can't leave you!"

"Well, you can't just sit there and gawk," she insisted. "Seriously. Find something else to do. I'll be fine."

"You're not fine!"

"Well, clearly!" she shouted back, lifting her head. "Wouldn't you say that's kind of the point? Or haven't you been paying attention?"

She groaned, and let her head fall back upon the pillow. A wave of nausea came over her, and she closed her eyes to let it pass. When it did, she opened her eyes again, and fixed them on Colin.

"Nauseated?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"It's just going to get worse, love."

"I know. I'm ready for it. Doctor's orders."

"Ugh, bloody hell," Colin muttered, standing up from his chair. He began to pace the room like a caged cat. "Bloody Doctor."

"It's not his fault, and you can't keep pacing, because you're making me dizzy," she told him. "And you must _know_ it's not his fault, because you're doing what he wants, aren't you?"

Colin sighed, and stopped pacing. "Yeah," he said, uneasily.

"Aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Colin Brownhill, are you following the Doctor's orders to the letter? Don't lie to me!"

"I am!" he practically shouted now. "God help me, I'm too far into this now _not_ to follow the Doctor's orders! He said not to give you your medication anymore, until the TARDIS arrived, so that's what I'm doing! Believe me, I'd love nothing more than to have you sit up, take one of those pills that we worked so hard to get, and then burn through those sheets with you until our beautiful, pre-planned holiday is over. But instead, I'm doing this! I'm watching you suffer, when the antidote is sitting right there on the your night table! Why would I do _any_ of this, if I weren't under _orders_?"

"I'm just trying to make sure you're not holding back," she said. "You weren't supposed to do something else, that you're too scared to do...""

"Not doing something I'm too scared to do? _This_ is bloody terrifying!" he shouted, louder than he intended, in his exasperation.

"Okay, okay, no need to get worked-up," Donna said, again, trying to raise her head, but again, getting dizzy. At that point, she also felt a strong rush of unpleasant heat, and began to perspire, but she tried to ignore it. "I believe you. I just wanted to be certain."

"Well… be certain. I'm doing everything he wants, even though it hurts you everywhere, which hurts me everywhere."

Donna burst into tears then, and covered her face with her hands.

"Oh, God," he groaned, sitting down on the bed beside her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Whatever I said… I'm so sorry, I take it back."

"No, don't take it back. What you said was lovely, just lovely," she told him. Then, she confessed, sobbing as she spoke, "I'm a horrible mess. I feel ghastly. I have never felt like this in my life, like I'm falling apart. Everything's going wrong, and it's only going to deteriorate further!"

Tears fell onto the pillow, and she continued to hide her face, now with embarrassment.

"Oh, Donna," he said. "That's it. You're taking a pill – Doctor or no Doctor. He's a brilliant guy, he'll find another way."

"No," she said. "Not until we get the go-ahead from him."

"He's locked in a cell on a different planet," Colin pointed out. "What if their phone dies, or gets confiscated? You're going to put yourself in the path of a stroke, just waiting for the Doctor to get back to you?"

"If you're in this, you're in this," she said. "If you're not, you're not."

"I'm in this, but let's be pragmatic…"

"Pragmatic, in my experience, means listening to the Doctor. It is far too early to consider _not_ doing that, so just step off with the pills, all right? If he says this will save them, then this will save them."

"Okay," Colin said. "I will soldier through. If you can handle it, I can."

And he lay down next to her. He stroked her hair, which temporarily staved off headache and nausea, and before either one of them knew it, Donna was mercifully asleep again.

He said a little prayer, hoping the TARDIS would find her before she woke. Her illness would be worse, her risk would be higher, her general misery would be more acute, if she regained consciousness after some time had passed.

"This better fucking work," he muttered aloud, watching her sleep fitfully, breathing hard, sweating terribly.

* * *

The Doctor and Martha Jones had spent two full nights as captives of the Congress of Sercaton, and their execution was imminent… possibly the following day. By Judge Rabic's own admission, Martha had done nothing to warrant a penalty of death, but they were going to send her to the gallows anyway, just because they could use it as a grandstanding measure. In fact, the Doctor reckoned that the planet was currently filling with officials from surrounding planets, come to watch the thrilling and spectacular death of the last of the Time Lords, and his faithful companion.

Their beta blockers worked fine all night, and into the morning. They talked a lot, they snogged a bit, he taught her the names of all the moons formerly surrounding Gallifrey. And, the Doctor tried again to take a running start and grab onto the high window, to see what he could see. And, they were both acutely aware that they only had a few hours left with the effects of their first dose of beta blockers, and only two pills remaining.

At some point, an hour or two after their afternoon meal of two pieces of charred sausage, and a block of mold-riddled cheese the size of a ping-pong ball, they were both up on their feet, stretching. The hard surfaces of their cell were unforgiving, and there was literally no respite from the stones and board.

As Martha pulled her arms back down to her sides, the Doctor was there waiting, with his hands on her hips, ready to meet up with her for a kiss, but as soon as their lips met, their hearts sped up…

…and her chest tightened ever so slightly.

"Did you feel that?" she asked, his lips still pressed halfway into hers.

"No, not yet," he said. "Blocker starting to wear off?"

"Yes," she sighed. "Just slightly, but it's definitely discernible."

"I was just about to suggestively ask how much time you reckon we've got left to have our heart-pounding fun, before we have to bring back the magic of the Monastery again."

"I reckon not much."

"How slight are we talking? Could you risk it?" he asked. But as soon as he did, he was obliged to let go of her, and begin coughing again, as that old familiar cardiac arrest threatened to overtake him. "Nope… never mind."

"Sorry," she said, sincerely.

With that, the Doctor kicked one of the lunch trays across the cell, with an angry cry, and a chest-clutching gasp. "I hate this planet."

"Well, let's think about something else. Here's something cheerful: Donna's medication wore off a few hours ago."

"Which means, she should be back comfortably in hypertensive crisis," the Doctor said. "If Colin's done what he said he would."

"So what do we do now? Just wait to hear from them? Wait to know that the TARDIS has homed in on Donna's distress?"

"No," he said. "We don't wait. We meditate. Hey, that rhymes!"

"Meditate?"

"It's another thing that came to me in the course of things yesterday," he said. "While you were gone, it was the only thing I could do to keep myself calm. The concept of meditation added itself to the soup of revelations I was on the verge of having, concerning how to help the TARDIS, and us."

"Okay, I'll take your word for it. What do I do?"

He sat down on his sleeping shelf, cross-legged like a yogi, and motioned for Martha to join him. She sat down in the same position, facing him, with their knees touching, and he took both her hands.

"Just, close your eyes, and try to clear your mind," he said.

She chuckled. "Easier said than done."

"I know," he said. "Just focus on how tired you are. Think of your exhaustion, and how good it feels just to let go… maybe just for a bit."

She sighed, realising for the first time that beyond being frightened and frustrated, she was, as he'd said, exhausted. Until now, she hadn't had time to think about it, nor would she have allowed herself to do so.

"Okay, I'm trying," she said.

"Your head and shoulders come into contact with the cushions, and your body relaxes. There's nothing to look at except the bedroom wall," he said. "Nothing you can do about your problems just now – not until you've had your rest. You won't be any good at solving them at the moment anyway…"

He continued for a few minutes to talk in this vein. He did not encourage her to fall asleep… just to unplug. And to her surprise, this little narrative worked. The idea that her problems aren't gone, they are just _waiting_ for her to be ready for them, it played well in her busy/brilliant/healer/heroine brain.

"Now isn't the time for planning, or being a hero," he said. "Because we have no idea what tomorrow will bring. Might as well stop worrying, and put your energy in storage."

 _He knows me well,_ she thought.

And then, for a while, they were both silent.

To her surprise, after an unknowable amount of time, the Doctor said, "I'm going to enter your mind now, is that all right?"

She smiled subtly. "Like I would ever say no to you."

And then she felt something probing at the edges of her consciousness. It was a warmth, a light, a familiarity… it felt like a metaphorical hand reaching across to hold hers.

"Martha, can you feel me?" he asked.

"I can," she replied.

And she realised then that the Doctor had not spoken to her – he had _thought_ with her, and she had fallen into the rhythm with absolutely no compunction.

"We're going to go further," he said. "Stay with me."

"I could never not stay with you."

More silence enveloped them, but in that time, she felt more warmth, more light, more familiarity, a tighter grip on the Doctor, his consciousness, his being… it was like they were absorbing one another and becoming one.

It felt amazing. Ineffable. She wondered how she would ever be able to hold onto this feeling, once it was over – it was far too lofty and profound and round and complete for her human brain… just _beyond_ anything that Dr. Jones could understand.

She had never felt so free, and so protected at the same time.

And never so in love.

And then the nature of the union changed.

Suddenly, it was like the two of them had walked across a threshold of sorts, through a door into something bigger, vast, all-knowing… like a sky. They seemed to fall, but the sky that cradled them, and let them fly at will, and its air warmed them and brushed against them freely, easily…

There was a softness, and a rush. There was floating like a feather, and there was exhilaration, like on a roller coaster.

And a pulse was at the back of it, perhaps rising from the horizon.

It was a familiar beat, faster than her heartbeat, but it, too, felt familiar. Like a song. Like the rhythm of something she'd heard before.

"You're here, I know you are," the Doctor said, and Martha knew he was not addressing her. He was addressing the TARDIS. "Can you hear me? Feel me?"

The pulse continued, but there was no answer, per se.

"Martha is here too… bring us in," he said. "Help us be with you."

Silence reigned a bit longer, and then, Martha felt something deep within the cradling sky. She felt a blip. A bump. She heard a sound…

If the TARDIS was in a coma, that what they had felt was the equivalent of her perhaps fluttering her eyelids, or reflexively moving her feet.

"Alive, yes," the Doctor said. "You're alive. Be alive for us. If for nothing else, then for us. And for Donna."

"Donna…" Martha's inner voice seemed to echo, almost involuntarily. "Our friend, Donna. Kind, clever, Donna…"

"We're here," from the Doctor. "Martha and I, we're all right, thanks to you. You've done your duty. But where is _she?_ Do you feel Donna missing?"

The pulse sped up just a hare, and there was a familiar grinding sound all round them, almost inside their consciousnesses themselves… and then it stopped, and the pulsing slowed again. It was a warning. The TARDIS had heard them, and was panicking, because they had pointed out Donna's absence… but her panic had got her the smackdown from Sercaton.

"I know it hurts," the Doctor said. "And I know you can feel trepidation… terror, even. But for Donna, you have to push through. She's in danger. Reach out to her. She's on Earth, and she needs help."

They both waited a long while before "saying" anything again. The TARDIS had been awakened somewhat by her primary imperative to keep her "friends" safe. But in her weakened state, it would take her a while to find Donna in the universe. On an ordinary day, Donna's distress would reach her in minutes. Today, it was a different story.

They waited.

And waited.

The good news was, they could feel the TARDIS' mild panic, and took it upon themselves as well. But their connection, their oneness, kept their heartrates cool. Worry plagued all three of them, for their friend, for her health, for her fear and suffering…

…but emotions could not, and did not boil over. Nothing went off-kilter, everything remained whole. Stable. Sound.

* * *

Donna slept for two hours, and Colin did as she had suggested: he put a match on. Two Spanish teams were playing football, and he had no idea which to root for, but he enjoyed "the beautiful game" enough that simply watching the players move about was entertainment enough for him.

He continued to lie next to Donna, and he occasionally looked over to make sure she was still breathing steadily, and not turning blue, hyperventilating, or silently having a stroke.

All at once, Donna woke, turned over on her side, and without warning, vomited into the bin that Colin had put at her bedside.

She cursed loudly, once she was done, then sat up on the edge of the bed, and wept.

"It's all right, love," he lulled, stroking her head again. She barely knew he was there.

He offered her some water, and she sipped it, just barely, then returned to her totally desolate state.

He removed the plastic bag from the bin and put it inside a non-transparent disposable laundry sack. He called down to reception to ask for a rubbish pick-up, as well as a few extra bags.

They waited for twenty minutes or so… housekeeping came and went. All the while, Donna just sat and cried. Her anxiety and illness, and overall distress was unbearable now.

"This is ridiculous," he said. "How can this be? It's only been ten hours, and you're so ill, you can't even sit up and see straight!"

"It's an exaggerated illness," she reminded him, clearing her throat, and calming somewhat. "Brought on by exaggerated events. The Doctor knows that. So does the TARDIS, in a way."

"Are you sure you don't want to take another pill?" he asked her.

"I'm sure," she replied. And then she took a few deep, ragged breaths, forcing down more sobs, as they threatened to break her open once more.

Colin paced, and listened to her breath vibrate through her, as she staved off nausea and fear.

"I'm giving it another hour, and then I'm calling for an ambulance," he said.

Without responding with words, Donna leaned forward once more, buried her head in her hands, and resumed weeping.

It was agony to watch.

* * *

 **Ugh, poor Donna.**

 **Thoughts? Send the crickets home, and let me hear what you have to say!**

 **Thanks for reading. :-)**


	10. About Time

ABOUT TIME

Donna had insisted upon remaining ill, ironically following Doctor's orders. She had slept for two hours, then was suddenly sick into a bin, and had spent the next forty minutes sitting on the bed, weeping.

Colin had read that one of the symptoms of Hypertensive Crisis could be anxiety, but he hadn't expected this general upheaval – the crying, the despair, watching her become crippled by fear. Somehow, he doubted that Donna was, ordinarily, quite so emotional. At least, not in this way.

But, as Donna herself had pointed out, it wasn't your typical case of hypertension. It was an "exaggerated illness brought on by exaggerated events," so perhaps Donna's up-close-and-personal contact with the time vortex was still working its ugly magic on her.

Colin paced, and listened to her breath vibrate through her, as she staved off nausea and anxiousness.

"I'm giving it another hour, and then I'm calling for an ambulance," he said.

Without responding with words, Donna leaned forward once more, buried her head in her hands, and resumed weeping.

It was agony to watch.

Eventually, Donna became still again. She was sitting up, her face in her hands, though she no longer sobbed. He doubted she'd fallen asleep, so he asked, "You all right?"

"No."

"Damn it, Donna! Take the fucking pill!"

"No," she repeated. "If I move, I will vomit again."

"This is ridiculous."

She took her hands away from her face, and looked up at him. Her pallor was positively grey, and even her hair was now hanging listless. Her eyes were sunken, she was shivering, and everything about her screamed for help.

He gasped a bit when he saw her face, and the level of deterioration that had occurred, just while she'd been sitting there on the side of the bed.

She opened her mouth to speak – he had no idea whether she would agree with him this time, or tell him again that she trusted the Doctor enough to stay in this state, and let herself circle the drain…

But she was able to get no words out. She became nauseated again, and reflexively stood up and ran for the bathroom. As soon as she was up on her feet, she collapsed. She was sick on the carpet beside the bed, and fell to her side, passed out.

"Shit!" he cried out. "No more!"

He grabbed the little bottle of pills from her night table, preparing to grind one down into powder so he could pour it into her... and then he heard it.

The sound of the TARDIS.

"Yes!" he cried, punching the air. "About goddamn time!"

After eleven agonising hours, the blue box materalised in the middle of their hotel room, just between the bed and the television. It was now impossible to pass from the window to the door without crawling over the bed, but Colin didn't care. They had the TARDIS here on Earth, which meant…

"Donna! Donna!" he said, shaking her. "You can take a pill now! Wake up!"

* * *

The prisoners sat still on one of the hard sleeping pallets. Their breathing and hearts were well-regulated, and absolutely no sound rang out in the room. They had been in deep, intensive meditation for over three hours; neither of them felt the time passing.

All of their thoughts ran to Donna. They did not have to try too hard – the fact that she was in crisis was at the forefront of their minds quite naturally, and their desperation to see her rescued was acute. They communed with the TARDIS, and with one another. They appealed to the TARDIS' heart, and her logic: her primary function was to keep her companions safe, so don't mind the gravity boosters, don't mind the light. Can she find a little bit of consciousness, a tiny spark energy left to save one of her own? Never mind the Doctor, never mind Martha – they were on Sercaton out of reach to the TARDIS. But Donna could be helped on Earth.

 _Go to her…_

 _Go to her,_ they pleaded.

And they were jostled out of this trance by a tinny, electronic sound.

"Oh!" Martha said, shaking off three hours' worth of heavy fog, and giving herself a pervasive, constrictive headache. "That's… my phone?"

The Doctor pulled the phone from his pocket, and hit speakerphone. "Colin! Is she there?"

"The TARDIS is here!" he answered. "Got here about twenty minutes ago."

Martha laid out flat on the wooden surface then, and took a great sigh of relief. "Thank God!" She massaged her temples to try and release some of the pressure from the hard work her brain had been doing.

"Have you given Donna her pill?" the Doctor asked.

"Yes," Colin said. "I had to crush it, and put it in some water. It's the only way she could do it without gagging."

"What are you two doing now?"

"She's in the shower, and I'm here, waiting for housekeeping."

"Housekeeping?" Martha asked.

"Yeah…" Colin replied, uncomfortably. "Things got ugly. They're going to need to shampoo parts of the carpet."

Martha groaned. "I'm so sorry, Colin."

"Hey, at least your daft plan worked, Doctor," her cousin chirped.

"My daft plans have been known to do so. Anyway, Colin, we left the front door unlocked when we were taken away," the Doctor said. "Take a peek inside the TARDIS. What do you see?"

"Hang on," said Colin. They then heard the unmistakable sound of the TARDIS front door creaking open. "It's dark."

"Okay. Is there a green light on anywhere?"

"No."

"Damn," the Doctor spat. "Is it cold?"

"Yes – quite cold."

"Will you ring me back in two hours, and let me know if anything has changed?"

"Sure. If the TARDIS is dark, does that means it's not recovering?" Colin asked.

"Well... actually, probably not," the Doctor said. "It most likely means, it's just too soon. It was a huge effort for her to get to you, but now she's back on a planet where her heart can beat as it needs to, I don't see any reason why she shouldn't be more or less good as new, in relatively short order. I'll want to know her progress over the next few hours."

"Okay, but… now that we have the TARDIS, and Donna is getting back to normal, isn't there any way we can help you?"

"Yes," the Doctor said. "We will definitely need your help, but we need the TARDIS up and running before that can happen, so don't forget that progress report in two hours, yeah?"

"Yeah," Colin said. "Talk to you in a bit."

"Thanks," the Doctor muttered, cutting off the call.

"What a relief," Martha breathed, as the Doctor stowed away the phone in his pocket.

"Yeah," he sighed. "And now comes the hard part."

* * *

Two hours passed uneventfully, and Colin phoned right on time.

"How is she?"

"She's doing a lot better," Colin said. "We're having our tea now – some simple sandwiches and chips. Don't want to aggravate her stomach just now."

"That's great," the Doctor sighed, genuinely glad to hear this news, though he'd been referring to the TARDIS, when he had asked _how is she?_

"As for the TARDIS," Colin said, before the Doctor had to ask. "That green light you were talking about, it's back on."

"Great!" the Doctor shouted. "Is it faint, or is it on at full-boar?"

"Hang on," Colin said, and again, they heard the TARDIS' door creaking, and it made the Doctor and Martha feel incredibly homesick, and impatient for this whole debacle to be over-with. "How do I know it's at full-boar?"

"Well, is that entire column in the centre of the console putting out light?"

"Yeah, it is."

"Brilliant! Can you press the phone to it?"

"Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously."

The Doctor listened intently as the sound of the TARDIS came over the line. The hum sounded weak, but healthy… convalescent.

"Is that enough?" asked Colin, coming back on.

"Yes, I think so. I like what I hear, for the most part, but…"

"But what?" Colin asked, after the Doctor cut himself off.

"Nothing," the Doctor dismissed. "What about the rest of the room? Any other lights? Coming from the walls, or from down the hall, or anything?"

"Not at the moment."

"Okay. What about the temperature?"

"It's still chilly, but not arctic like it was before."

The Doctor sighed heavily. "That is genuinely wonderful to hear. Can you call me in another two hours?"

"Sure," Colin agreed. "What am I looking for this time?"

"Not sure… maybe you'll know what to say when the time comes. I'll have questions."

"Okay. Talk again soon."

This time, when the Doctor cut off the call, Martha expected to see him smile. But no such luck.

"What's wrong? Aren't you chuffed about this?" she asked.

"I'm glad the TARDIS is doing better," he answered. "I'm just afraid she's not going to recover fast enough."

The Doctor then set about dialing a long, complicated number on Martha's mobile. She knew without asking that it was the TARDIS' communications system he was hoping to connect with.

"Now that we're far away from her, you think you'll be able to hear what Donna and Colin heard? Her heartbeat?"

"Yes. Or the comm will ring on the console because she's back online," he said. "Either way is fine."

His ear was then filled with a low hum, and a pulse. It was the unmistakable inner symphony of the TARDIS – energy flowing and fighting to get through her interior, her consciousness. There were sounds of resistance, of hope, of the vessel _working_ to come back to her full strength.

And underlying everything, there was a pulse. The Doctor clocked it at one-hundred-ten beats per minute.

"One-ten BPM," he said. "Getting there, but… damn it. Not fast enough."

"Wha…" Martha started to say, but they were interrupted by a guard, coming delivering their evening meal: cold creamy soup with non-descript _bits_ in. As always, it was served on a heavy stone tray, in heavy stone bowls.

"Good evening sir," the Doctor said, boisterously, as the guard was arriving. The tall, rubber-helmeted man grunted, handing him the tray, and just as he was leaving, the Doctor asked, in incongruously friendly tones, "I'm hoping you can shed some light on something I've been wondering about. Will we get a request for our last meals?"

"What?" asked the guard, incredulously.

"Will we be permitted to choose our last meals?" he asked. "Our execution _is_ pending closely, isn't it?"

"As I hear tell of it, it's tomorrow," said the guard.

"Oh, dear," the Doctor said. "Well, I hope you'll pass along a little titbit of info to Judge Rabic: I like to do my dying before lunch. Just… you know, as a courtesy. Maybe."

"The Congress' state rooms are nearly overflowing with officials from galaxies around. We're just waiting on two more arrivals, set to be here by breakfast-time," the guard said. "So I would guess that you'll get your wish. You'll be dying early."

"Lovely, lovely," the Doctor said, affably. "Good to know. Thanks for telling us."

"I shouldn't have," the guard said. "I'll be back in a while to pick up those plates."

As the door slammed shut, the Doctor said, "Thank heaven they let the underlings do the meal deliveries. A superior officer would never have responded to me."

"Underlings like to talk," Martha said. "To show they know what's up. It's true in hospitals too, especially with medical students."

"Well, to put a positive spin on this," the Doctor said, with a big sigh. "Now we know roughly what time we will be executed – the mystery is now gone."

"Oh, hooray," she said, her voice sarcastic, pinched and anxious.

"But it means we'll have to wait."

"Wait for what?"

"Wait for the morning – for the breakfast delivery," he muttered. "I was hoping to get this done at dinner-time, when all of the planet's attention _isn't_ focused on us, and the security detail _isn't_ on high-alert, but, well, you play the cards you're dealt. As it is, we're going to be cutting it a bit fine…"

"Ah, but that's what we do best," Martha said, with a tired smile.

"Oh, yes!" the Doctor exclaimed, as only he can.

* * *

They spent an anxious night, waiting for the first light. When it came, the Doctor saw that Martha had actually managed to fall asleep, and he was loath to wake her. But he'd had no choice, because without this little head-start this morning, she would never survive their escape. As it was, his plan was dodgy and dangerous for her, but it was all he could think of, with the resources he had.

And it all hinged on the TARDIS, Colin, and Donna… and really great timing.

Colin and Donna had rung at two-hour intervals all night, reporting in on what new developments the TARDIS was exhibiting, as far as her functions. The lights came back fairly early-on, but the navigation system was taking agonisingly long to come online.

"Well, this could make the timeline really awkward," the Doctor muttered.

"I hate it when you say stuff like that," Martha muttered back.

"So do I," Donna added, over the phone.

"So do I," Colin echoed.

"It's okay… as long as the navigation system is working by, say, lunchtime today," the Doctor said.

"And what if it isn't?" Colin asked.

"One thing at a time, mate," the Doctor responded. "Call us back in one hour, instead of two, yeah?"

"What d'you mean, 'yeah?' What's the alternative?" Donna asked. "Let you get executed on planet Circlethon, or whatever? We'll talk soon. Be safe, both of you."

With that, the call ended.

"Okay then," the Doctor said to Martha. "We've got to get started pretty soon – we don't know how much time we've got. Are you ready?"

She took a deep breath and exhaled through pursed lips. "Ready as I'll ever be."

"All right," the Doctor said. "First things first."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the last two remaining beta-blockers. He had squirrelled away a small amount of liquid from last night's dinner and drink, so that he could swallow them. He took them both, now fully aware that their largest piece of insurance against this barbaric planet was now consumed.

And that was more than a little terrifying, considering that his plan B for Martha's safety had so many flaws.

"Now," he said to her, as he sat down on the hard pallet where he'd been lying, the past two nights. "Come here."

She approached, exhaustedly, and sat down across from him, as she had the day before. He took her hands.

"I'm shaking," she said.

"I see that. You won't be, in just a few minutes, love," he lulled. "But you know… this isn't guaranteed, Martha."

"I know."

"This is just the best solution I can think of, under the circumstances."

"I know," she said. "But based on what we accomplished with the TARDIS, I think this idea has a chance. And I trust you."

"Good," he whispered. "And you know, I wouldn't be able to do this with just anyone. It's because we, you and me, we are…" He swallowed hard, unable to finish the sentence.

She smiled "Yes, we are."

"But I need you to know, that no how much _we are_ , and how deeply entrenched we become, it's still just a mental exercise. It's still a test of thought-control. Which means it's tenuous. There are lots of things that could interfere with it. Unpredictable things."

"Okay. I get it."

"So, if you lose connection, it doesn't mean there's something wrong with you, or with us. It doesn't mean we're any less…"

"Okay," she repeated.

"Okay," he echoed. Then he reached across with one hand, and cradled her jaw, then leaned in for a kiss. When he pulled away, she gave him a weak, tired smile. "How about we lay low for a bit after this?"

"Don't say things like that," she chuckled. "That's what jinxes it."

He smirked. "Okay, well, failing that, we could revisit the idea of settling down. Kids, dog, insurance policies."

She laughed.

"What?" he asked, exaggeratedly, feigning offence.

"You keep bringing that up."

He shrugged. "There's more to the universe than just exploring it, Dr. Jones."

She laughed again. "I'm just thinking of you, writing an insurance cheque. And mowing the lawn. It's kind of entertaining."

Now he laughed as well. "I've done both of those things. Well, not insurance cheques so much as _bribes,_ but in my world, you know..."

"We aren't _really_ talking about this are we?"

"Not if you don't want to."

She was silent for a few moments. "Later," she said, at last.

"All right then. Let's continue the chaos, shall we? Tally ho!"

* * *

 **What's the escape plan? How will they keep Martha's heart from exploding while they do it? Welllllll….**

 **Okay, this was not the world's most exciting chapter, I realize, but I would really love to hear from you anyway. If you're reading a story, only fair to comment!**

 **Thank you for reading!**


	11. The Dance

THE DANCE

They were sitting across from one another, cross-legged, on the hard surface which had served somewhat as the Doctor's "bed" for the past two nights. The Doctor had spoken to Martha about his plan for keeping her safe, now that all of the beta blockers were consumed. She seemed to understand that it was a test of personal control, that it might be difficult to maintain…

…and most importantly, if she (or they) failed, it didn't make them any less _together._ It didn't mean they weren't connected on a very profound level.

Although, in his own mind, the Doctor had high hopes. The two of them had been able to literally move an object through time and space using this method, so it was more than possible they would be able to escape using this method as well, and no-one would get hurt.

He reached across with one hand, and cradled her jaw, then leaned in for a kiss. When he pulled away, she gave him a weak, tired smile. "How about we lay low for a bit after this?"

"Don't say things like that," she chuckled. "That's what jinxes it."

He smirked. "Okay, well, failing that, we could revisit the idea of settling down. Kids, dog, insurance policies."

"You keep bringing that up."

He shrugged. "There's more to the universe than just exploring every corner of it, Dr. Jones."

She laughed again. "I'm just thinking of you, writing an insurance cheque. And mowing the lawn. It's kind of entertaining."

Now he laughed as well. "I've done both of those things. Well, not insurance cheques so much as _bribes,_ but in my world, you know..."

"We aren't _really_ talking about this are we?"

"Not if you don't want to."

She was silent for a few moments. "Later," she said, at last.

"All right then. Let's continue the chaos, shall we? Tally ho!" Then his tone changed to something soft and comforting. "Close your eyes. Clear your mind."

She took a deep breath, and tried to do as he asked. After about thirty seconds, she said, "It would help if you could talk me through it. I liked the stuff you said before about the bedroom wall…"

"Okay," he said softly. "Focus on your exhaustion. Think of the fight that lies ahead, and how tiring it all seems… then think of how you don't have to worry about any of it. Just let go. There's nothing you can do just now. It's useless to worry or try to help. In fact, the less you do, the better off we'll both be."

Another thirty seconds went by, and the Doctor continued, "Just picture yourself holding all of our struggles in your hands… the thinking, the doing, the worrying, the plotting. Even the violence. Yes?"

"Yes."

"Now hand them off to me."

She sighed, and tried to put it all on him. "Oh dear," she breathed.

"I'm taking them, absorbing them. Thank you. And it's all right. I'm up to it. I _want_ to do it," he assured her. "You can turn your mind off, knowing that I've got it sorted. Trust me. Breathe. That's all _you_ have to do to save our lives. Trust me, and breathe."

"Trust you, and breathe," she repeated.

"Sink into your comfy bed at home, and let go… let go," he continued. "Your head and shoulders come into contact with the cushions, and your body relaxes. There's nothing to look at except the bedroom wall. Nothing you can do now. Just sink."

And like before, he continued for a few minutes to talk in this vein. He did not encourage her to fall asleep… just to be non-present, here and now. Again, the little narrative worked.

"Now isn't the time for planning, or being a hero," he said. "Because you gave it all to me. Trust. Do not act. It's okay. Doesn't it feel good, for once?"

And for a while, they were both silent.

Then, again, after an unknowable amount of time, the Doctor said, "I'm going to enter your mind now, is that all right?"

"Of course," she mused.

This time, she did not feel anything familiar probing at the periphery of her mind. She simply took a deep breath, and he was there, inside her consciousness.

"I want to share my equilibrium with you," he said to her, without speaking. "Feel my hearts. Feel that rhythm – eighty beats per minute or so… it can't be changed. It's fixed. Just like us – fixed together."

And that's when something truly extraordinary began to happen.

In her mind, she imagined the Doctor taking her right hand in his left, and wrapping his right arm around her waist. From there, they danced a waltz, at eighty beats per minute. Mozart's _Spring Song_ played on a loop, and they stepped and spun.

She knew that this was all of his orchestrating, he'd reached across to her, and some part of him was now dancing with some part of her. He had given her mind something to cling to, something familiar to conceptualise, so that he could bring her in further along with him, and keep her on an even plane of eighty beats per minute. The dance served a practical purpose. Even in the reverie, she knew precisely what it was: an illusion created as a means to an end.

But even dancing with him in the self-conscious, invented dancefloor in their minds, she knew that when it was over, there would be a new awakening. The dance wasn't just a dance, it was a deeply-seated _entwining_ taking place. It seemed to put them in a new field with one another. His lofty, Time Lord mind had hers on the level with his. She could, in a sense, understand and _know_ him better now than she ever could. At the moment, it was literally true that they could read each other's minds, but she knew that the figurative telepathy that lovers share would have boosted tenfold, at the end of this adventure.

Of course, he realised what she was thinking, and he smiled. Her wonder, her knowing, her love, they were literally all around them, enveloping them, as were his power and concentration, his ingenuity and passion.

There was a synchronising happening, of more than just heartbeats, but on the inside. Of souls.

She didn't know if he'd intended this _profondeur_ of interaction when he'd entered her mind this time, or if it was just a by-product of the process. It didn't matter. For Martha, the proverbial "damage" was now done. She felt that their relationship was ageing by a decade, in just these minutes.

They spun on a black lacquered dancefloor, and it felt as though they were spiralling down deeper into something. Down, down…

The sound of the cell door opening cut into the illusion just a bit, and the Doctor whispered, "The guard is coming in. He's here to give us our breakfast. Whatever happens, just keep dancing, Martha. He means nothing to you."

"Just keep dancing…" she mused.

* * *

The Doctor stood up from the pallet, and approached the guard. "Morning," he said, affably.

"Yes, it is," said the guard.

The Doctor saw that today's breakfast was something that looked like rice, and some sort of raw green vegetable next to it, served, as usual, on stone plates.

Usually, the Doctor or Martha would take the stone tray from the guard when he appeared to give them their meal, but not this time. The Doctor moved to the side, and gestured to a spot on the pallet near Martha, and when the guard moved to set the tray down, the Doctor got between him and the door.

He hated violence. Loathed it. The thought of what he had to do now was nerve-melting and made him feel a little bit sick, and he almost balked, in favour of finding a more cerebral solution. But he'd thought of a cerebral solution… the sort of thing he does best. And to get there, _this_ had to come first…

He forced himself to swat away his doubts. His passive-aggressive, non-violent, hippy leanings would have to be squelched now, because if not, he and Martha were both dead sometime in the next few hours.

He willed Martha to hold on tight to her reverie.

The guard stopped for a moment after setting the tray on the pallet. He stared at Martha, then turned toward the Doctor.

"What's the matter with her?" he asked, referring to her faraway expression.

"She's in something like a trance," the Doctor answered. "Maintaining a heartrate of eighty beats per minute."

"Why?"

"Because, under normal circumstances, she'd be prone to get far too nervous, when I do things like this," the Doctor said. And with that, he surprised the daylights out of the guard by throwing a full-bodied, back-handed punch to the side of his head.

The element of surprise had been crucial, because the punch itself hadn't been hard enough to befuddle the guard on its own.

"What the…" was the guard's disoriented response. He stepped back instinctively from the Doctor, trying to shake off the bit of fog the punch had caused. The Doctor took advantage of these moments. He grabbed the stone tray, and threw it behind the guard, strewing food everywhere, and causing the tall man to trip, and begin to stumble.

"Doctor…" Martha said, worriedly.

He tried to assure her psychically that the plan was _his_ to execute, she should just keep dancing…

As the guard moved unsteadily backward, trying to get his balance, the Doctor again took advantage and shoved him, ensuring he'd fall to the floor.

Quickly the guard sat up and unsheathed his laser-like weapon from his hip holster, and fired it at the Doctor. The latter dodged the shot, which hit the wall at the other end of the cell. This made the wall look blurry for a moment, and then there was some blowback from the impact. The wall had absorbed some of it, but what bounced back at them felt like standing directly in front of an industrial-level air conditional for about three seconds.

Absently, the Doctor thought _a Q-09 blaster, meant for long-range combat. What a daft weapon to give a prison guard._

In the moment when he dodged the Q-09, he dived behind the guard, trying to get his arm crooked around his neck, but the guard twisted away before the Doctor could get a tight enough grip.

The guard got to his feet, whereas the Doctor was on the floor.

The Doctor panicked slightly. This man was trained in hand-to-hand combat, and the Doctor had now lost the element of surprise. He was at a disadvantage now, and the tables had turned.

 _This is why I never use physical violence. I'm rubbish at it._

 _I should just stick to outsmarting…_

He saw the weapon in the guard's hand, and thought fast. He grabbed the tray again, lying nearby on the floor.

He backed up to the wall. "Oh, you've got me now," he said, rather sarcastically.

"I have," said the guard.

"Except, based on the evidence, you're such a crap shot, you wouldn't be able to hit water in a bucket!"

"You insolent Time Lord scum!"

The guard took two steps forward and fired again. The Doctor held up the tray in self-defence, knowing exactly what would happen. Some of the weapon's blast was absorbed by the stone (less so than when the weapon was fired at the wall, though), the rest ricocheted back at the guard, and disoriented him.

Once more, the guard was stumbling, and the Doctor got to his feet and again positioned himself behind him. This time, though, he pushed the guard forward, so the man would fall to his knees. When he did, the Doctor used the tray to deliver the final blow that knocked him out. He fell sideways onto the stone floor.

"Blimey, why didn't I just do that in the first place?" the Doctor asked himself. "I tell you, I'm rubbish at this close-quarters stuff."

He looked at Martha. She was eerily calm, and when he pulled into himself momentarily, he could see that she was still dancing. She was not unaware of what was going on around her, but she was putting her concentration into the waltz at eighty beats per minute, so that fear could not get the better of her.

"Amazing job, Martha," he said to her. "You're doing beautifully."

"It's all you, Doctor."

"It's really not. But no time to argue."

As quickly as he could, the Doctor got out of his own clothing. Then he peeled off the man's black uniform, and black rubber helmet. He had never seen the actual face of a Sercatonian before – he found the guard's visage disturbing. It was almost half-human and half-reptile. It was both familiar and alien to him, and he was glad that most of the time, he couldn't see the eyes of his captors.

Taking the guard's clothes off, especially while pressed for time, was quite a task; he actually contemplated asking for Martha's help, but any interruption might mess with the equilibrium she'd found. So, she simply watched weirdly impassively while he took on the guise of a Sercatonian prison guard.

He then dragged the limp guard into the attached room that served as a loo, then threw his suit and trainers into the hole in the floor. He shut the door behind him, so that anyone checking the cell would not immediately realise what the Doctor had done. If they were lucky, other guards would assume that the trial and executions had been moved up, and the prisoners had been taken early.

The last thing to do before they could leave was donning the rubber head-covering.

"Martha, I'm going to cover my face now. I'm going to look like one of them, but you can rest assured it's me," he said. "You know my voice. Just listen."

"I can see you on the inside," she said. "I'm fine."

He pulled the disturbing thing down over his head, and could now see through the guard's dark goggles. The goggles served also as a computer screen, and over to the right of his vision, the number twelve, in Sercatonian, appeared in the display. He didn't yet know what that meant, but he reckoned he'd learn.

He found he could breathe just fine through the sharp-looking grate over the mouth.

He took her by the arm, and urged her to stand up. "I have to handle you roughly. I'm sorry."

"It's all right."

"Are you ready to run, if need be?"

"Yes, I think so," she said. "But are you? Beta blockers may hamper the fight-or-flight response."

"I'll do my best," the Doctor said. "It might not be too bad. My metabolism works a bit differently."

"Two hearts…"

"Double the fun. Shall we?"

He led her out the door into the corridor. He gripped her tightly, and held her arm a bit above where felt natural to her, so that she wouldn't walk comfortably, and it would seem that he was dragging her about.

"Do you know where you're going?" she said, inside their minds.

"Not really," he said. "I'm hoping to explore a bit, and get a sense of how the place is laid out. I've seen a hundred of these compound-type things… there are a few different intuitive variations, but mostly, they're all the same, if you know how to see the big picture."

And he tried. They twisted and turned down the corridors, heading nowhere in particular (at least, not just yet), but it was difficult with the myriad distractions…

They ran across other guards, a few with prisoners, though most without. In spite of his new uniform, the Doctor felt wicked conspicuous. _All_ of the guards they saw were taller than he, and their builds were generally more soft and thin, like pulled taffy. He hoped no-one would be looking at their fellow guards closely enough to notice that he was not like them.

To his relief, some of the guards greeted the Doctor, and he greeted them back, but no-one seemed to think he was out-of-place. Though, of course, they were quite inscrutable, since he couldn't see their faces properly, behind the unnerving helmets.

Then someone stopped him. "Hey, there, Sabrak, is it?"

"Er, yes," the Doctor said, trying not to curse under his breath.

"This is Martha Jones, isn't it?"

"Erm, no," the Doctor riffed. "This is a prisoner from Pervander X. Charged with spreading propaganda. She's being moved."

"Hmm," the other guard said. He touched the side of his goggles, and said, "Are you on frequency twelve?"

The Doctor had seen the twelve on the periphery of his goggle-vision, and reckoned the answer was, "Yes."

"Okay, let's double-check," said the other guard.

With that, an image of Martha appeared in the Doctor's field of vision, inside the goggles.

"Oh, damn," the Doctor couldn't stop himself from muttering.

"That's Martha Jones you're seeing, Sabrak," said the other guard. "I don't know what you've been told, but that prisoner you've got is one and the same. I'll take her from here."

"What?" the Doctor asked, as the image in his goggles disappeared, and he could now see the other guard once more. "You'll take her from here? No, no…"

"Yes, yes," said the other guard. "I'm under orders."

"I'm under orders as well," the Doctor protested.

"I outrank you, Sabrak," the other guard admonished. "My orders supersede yours. Hand her over."

"But…"

"Judge Rabic's plan is to be carried out starting now."

"But, she hasn't even been tried yet."

"I know. She'll be injected before the trial - that's the only way it will work."

"Injected?"

"Rabic told me himself – I'm to do it personally." There was a pause, and then the other guard said, "In fact…"

Then, much to the Doctor's horror, the guard quickly pulled a syringe from his belt, took off the blunt cap. The Doctor tried to pull her out of the way, but wasn't fast enough. The guard plunged the needle into Martha's arm, depressing the plunger rapidly with his thumb, emptying some _substance_ into her bloodstream.

* * *

 **Oh no! Jeez, what've they done to our Martha?** **Best laid plans, eh? Even the Doctor's.**

 **Well, who's out there reading? I've been getting silence again from most of you - take this opportunity to leave me a review, and make my weekend!**

 **Thank you again for reading! :-D**


	12. Priority Number One

**Hello, friends. Thank you for feeding my needy, and responding with reviews. It really is important, and much appreciated!**

 **The Doctor's plan is going horribly awry now... enjoy!**

* * *

PRIORITY NUMBER ONE

Martha Jones was dancing with the Doctor. Waltzing, as a matter of fact, to Mozart's _Spring Song._ It was a bit difficult to concentrate on the dancing, given that she was actually being led by the arm down a dangerous corridor, subject to being recaptured and executed at any moment, surrounded by men in rubber masks, but she managed. The weirdest thing was existing in two realities at once; she was completely aware of what was going on around her, but also concentrated the dance inside, being held, as it were, by the Doctor, in a rhythmic trance. Like one existence superimposed upon another. Like she was hitting 'alt-tab' inside her brain, while still seeing two screens.

Having seen him scuffle with the guard, and then struggle to climb into the guard's uniform… well, it was all very nerve-wracking. Fortunately, though, the meditation continued, and the depth of their connection endured. In the reverie, the Doctor was able to calm her – his eyes kept her fixed and entranced. She reckoned she should be experiencing abject fear – and she was – and yet she was cradled in comfort. This was how she knew that things had changed, that _she,_ as well as _their relationship_ were perhaps being pushed to the next level with this depth of connection. Never had she been able to be so wide open, yet so compartmentalised all at once. It was as though the Doctor was bringing her into not just his equilibrium, but also his way of thinking and seeing and interpreting the universe around him.

Though she hardly had time to think about it.

Another voice was sounding in her head. She saw the tall, disturbing officer standing before them…

He made her nervous. Being here made her nervous. This entire business of escape made her nervous. Under normal circumstances, she'd also be exhilarated and excited, but she couldn't afford that now…

…and so she waltzed on.

"Hey, there, Sabrak, is it?"

"Er, yes," the Doctor's voice seemed to say.

"This is Martha Jones, isn't it?"

" _Oh God, they know!"_ Martha said, keeping it all within the waltz. Her steps faltered a bit, but the Doctor caught her, and returned her to proper footing.

" _It's all right,"_ he assured her. _"You can do this. Just stay in rhythm."_

She then heard him deny to the other voice that this was indeed Martha Jones, whom he had by the arm.

But the other man was not convinced. "That's Martha Jones you're seeing, Sabrak. I don't know what you've been told, but that prisoner you've got is one and the same. I'll take her from here."

" _What do we do? This is a disaster!"_ she cried out, stumbling again.

" _Don't panic. Concentrate on the waltz."_

Inside her mind, the Doctor's grip around her waist became a bit tighter, and he actually _counted_ for her, so she could find her equilibrium again.

"You'll take her from here?" he said to the guard. "No, no…"

"Yes, yes. I'm under orders."

"I'm under orders as well," the Doctor protested.

"I outrank you, Sabrak," the other guard admonished. "My orders supersede yours. Hand her over."

"But…"

"Judge Rabic's plan is to be carried out starting now."

" _Rabic's plan?"_ Martha asked. _"What is his plan?"_

" _I don't know. I'll try and find out. Just dance."_

"But, she hasn't even been tried yet," the Doctor pointed out to the guard.

"I know. She'll be injected before the trial. That's the only way it will work."

"Injected?" she heard the Doctor ask."

"Rabic told me himself – I'm to do it personally," said the guard. There was a pause, and then he said, "In fact…"

She watched the guard reach for something at his belt.

" _What's he doing? What's he doing?"_

And she was terrified to find that the Doctor was not lulling her. Where was he? How was she supposed to keep on dancing and _not die_ if he couldn't hold her inside the meditation?

But he was right there beside her all along, and she realised with horror that he'd been silent because he'd been panicking the last few seconds as well…

Though, on the outside, Martha realised that all of this was happening faster than her inner-self had been keeping up with it, and that perhaps the Doctor did not have time to react.

She felt a tug on her arm, followed, a split second later by a deep pain in the other arm. A prick that seemed to push down, and down…

…and it burned. Something was getting into her bloodstream.

"Ouch!" she cried out loud, suddenly completely drowned in reality. The injection had yanked her from the meditation, and caught in a panic, she realised what had happened. She tried to pull back inside of herself, but the reverie was gone. The waltz was gone. _Spring Song_ was gone. And her heart was now pounding much faster than eighty beats per minute.

* * *

A few seconds seemed to go buy in a matter of minutes, as the guard plunged a needle into Martha's body in slow motion, and appeared to pollute her with some unidentified substance.

He hadn't realised that the guard's words had caused him to lose concentration and disconnect a bit from the waltz, and he hadn't been there to keep her grounded when the injection occurred. And all at once, he felt her snap. He felt her inside of himself, explode into panic and pain… and then she was gone.

"Ouch!" she cried out.

The connection was severed. The meditation broken, eighty beats-per-minute a pipe-dream, as long as Martha's consciousness was flailing free.

"We'll see you at the trial, Sabrak," the other guard said, taking the arm he had just pricked, attempting to drag her away.

And she began to fight.

"Oh, no you don't!" she screamed, twisting away. She only got two feet, before he grabbed her again, this time tighter. "No! Stop! You can't!"

"Sabrak, give me a hand, would you?" the guard asked. "She's not going to go quietly."

"You're goddamn right, I'm not going to go quietly!" Martha screamed, kicking at him, trying in vain to twist away once more. "Let go of me!"

It occurred to the Doctor that if he helped subdue and transport her, he could stay with her and maybe help keep her safe, and he moved to do so.

But two other officers arrived out of nowhere, both grabbing onto Martha, including with one hand over her mouth, silencing her scream of "No!" With three of them holding her, she now had no chance of movement. He could see terror in her eyes, and knew her well enough to know that she was not only scared, but also angry as hell.

It was all the Doctor could do to keep a lid on his temper, and not throw himself at the guards, and get both of them killed kicking and scratching, trying to free her. He forced himself to speak calmly, succeeding only marginally.

"It's okay, guys, I'll help," he said, with gritted teeth. "You can go back to doing whatever you were doing."

"This _is_ what we were doing," said one of the later arrivals. "We were headed in this direction to assist with the transfer of Martha Jones. Now, back sector E with you. Go on."

He couldn't say anything to reassure her. He couldn't _think_ anything to reassure her. He couldn't even give her a _look._

They just took her, and he had to watch.

One way or another, this planet seemed determined to break his hearts.

And with that, the three guards disappeared around a corner carrying a restrained, pissed-off, terrified Martha Jones, with a heartrate out of control.

 _I knew I should've come up with something better than a bloody meditation to keep her safe. I should have known that one good painful jostle would bring her round, and it would be all over…_

… _but it was all I had! What was I supposed to do?_ Make _a new set of beta blockers with my handy-dandy chemistry set? Please._

But, he happened to notice rather absently, at least she wasn't coughing, sputtering, trying to clutch her chest, turning blue, or anything else. So, that was a plus.

He tried following them. They took her through a door at the end of an adjacent hallway, which shut behind them. The Doctor tried opening it, but it was, of course, locked. He searched the uniform's belt he was wearing – there was a weapon, a repair kit for the goggles, and various and sundry other things… but no keys. And the sonic screwdriver was on the TARDIS console, inside of a hotel room in Portugal, on the planet Earth. Lovely.

* * *

He retreated away from the door, lest he be caught trying to get through. The last thing he needed was to get thrown into some other type of cell, especially with Martha taken.

He went back down the hall with his heartrate regulated, but not his panic.

"Think think think think think," he said to himself, moving swiftly down the hall.

He found a door that said "utility," turned the knob, and went inside – he needed a quick place to breathe heavily and mildly freak out without anyone noticing.

It was as he had expected: a small room filled with cleaning supplies, a control panel for heating and water, and a broken chair in the corner.

He paced.

Martha was gone, taken literally kicking and screaming by three incredibly upstanding men, each of whom was twice her size.

"And I just let it happen," he said aloud. He chuckled to himself. "Nice, Doctor. Very brave. How many planets have you saved, again?"

But, he reminded himself of the reason he'd done it: if he had fought for her, they'd know who he was, and the business of escape would have got a million times harder. They would _both_ be under lock-and-key once again, and there would be no-one to roam about the complex, trying to find a way to recalibrate the planet.

 _Recalibrate the planet._ Martha had said it sounded daft. He hoped she was wrong.

Because it was now his priority.

His instinct said to save Martha first, but that was the gut reaction of a man in love. The rational decision of a hard-boiled problem-solver was to start with the TARDIS. Without the TARDIS, Martha's freedom was temporary at best, as was his.

 _Make this planet safe for the TARDIS. Okay, good. That's the plan._

So, nothing had changed. He still had to push forward and find the central server… or at least the complex's link to it, and increase the maximum heartrate. Martha's personal safety was now priority number two.

He closed his eyes, and swallowed a sob, as well as a swell of anger. _This absurd planet has forced me to put Martha's safety_ second. _Which means it's a hell of a lot more fucked-up than I ever realised._

With that, he stepped back out into the hallway. From now on, no more exploring, no more getting his bearings. He was now just looking for a staircase.

* * *

An hour or so of searching in the bowels of the building, at last, yielded an official-looking door marked, "Records."

A quick search on the independent server, under the not-so-watchful eye of a librarian-like guard, yielded what he had been hoping for: the knowledge that he was in the main building, held by the Congress of Sercaton. It was, in essence, the main government facility. Like the U.S. Capitol in Washington D.C., only less grand, if he was remembering the exterior correctly.

That meant that in all likelihood, the central control unit for the planet's atmospheric weirdness had to be here somewhere.

He didn't expect the room to be labelled, exactly, but he did pull up a schematic of the complex.

It was huge, labyrinthine, and not at all intuitive.

 _Well, lovely. So, on top of everything else, all my experience with skulking about in secret alien "complexes" is of no use to me. This planet just gets better and better._

And while he was studying the schematic, another guard wandered into the room, and began chatting up the "librarian" guard.

"Yox, how are you?" librarian guard asked.

"Bored. Could be worse."

"Haven't they got you guarding the hordes?"

"Sort of," said the second guard. "But the hordes are surprisingly subdued. I think they're just waiting to see what they came to see, and then… after that, there will be celebration and anarchy. Not necessarily related to one another."

 _Oh, that's right! The hordes… waiting to see what they came to see, namely, my hideous death. I'd almost forgotten about them!_

It had occurred to the Doctor, two days earlier, to ask Judge Rabic how in the hell they were planning on hosting beings from various planets all over this galaxy for the exciting conclusion of the Time Lord saga, when excitement causes increased heartrate, which, on this planet, causes terrible things to happen. The judge had answered cryptically, giving nothing away.

And now it was occurring to him again.

He used a sort of "screen-shot" function on his goggles to preserve the image he was seeing, of the complex's layout, then saved it for later use.

Then he stood up from the computer, and sauntered over to the other two guards, and pretended to make bored small talk. "Hey there, Yox," he said. "So the hordes are calm, you say. Sorry, couldn't help overhearing – I was just sitting over there."

"Yes," Yox said. "It makes less work for me, but the days go by so damn slowly."

"Hm, I'll bet," the Doctor commented. "Why do you think? They're so docile, I mean?"

"I have no idea," he said. "Out of courtesy, maybe? I mean, considering that they _could_ lose their minds and wreak havoc if they wanted, it really is a mystery. By all accounts, we were expecting parties in the streets, and lots of noise, but there's only been a few respectful gatherings."

"They _could_ lose their minds, all right," the Doctor chuckled, pretending to know what that meant, so that perhaps Yox would give further.

"Yeah," Yox breathed. "With the amount of Zone 2 Corabat they've ordered, it makes you wonder why the rest of us bother."

"Zone 2 Corabat?" the Doctor asked, feigning amusement. Then he let out a long, descending whistle. "Strong stuff."

"Yeah, but… everything's fine," said Yox the guard. "No-one is taking advantage. I reckon they really must fucking hate that Doctor."

"I reckon they must," said the Doctor.

"They must really want to see him burn!" Yox added, breaking out into laughter, which the librarian guard joined.

"What I don't get is why we are using Zone 2, rather than Zone 1?" commented the Doctor. "I mean, both drugs will secure heartrate at a fixed BPM equally well, but Zone 1 is cheaper in this part of the universe. I mean, it comes from closer territories."

"Because it only comes in pill form from Zone 1."

"Right," the Doctor sighed. "Zone 2 can manufacture the drug in almost any form. Got it."

"It's dangerous, if you ask me," said the librarian guard. "Letting everyone behave how they like, have _excitement_ and whatnot. What if they begin revelling? Or worse: copulating!"

"I guess that's a chance the Congress is willing to take," the Doctor said, shrugging.

"But still," librarian said, shuddering. "It's so gross. And right here, on our planet! And they'd survive to do it again! Ugh!"

 _With any luck_ , the Doctor agreed, inwardly.

"Well, good chat," he said to the two guards. "I'd better be getting back…"

"Yep, see you," Yox said, waving him off.

He left the room, heading to the left, in the opposite direction from where he'd come. He still needed to find a central server of some sort, that would allow him to recalibrate the planet's sensibilities, and bring the TARDIS in safely…

And while he walked, he couldn't help but think. He was disturbed, as something was on the tip of his consciousness, of his realisation, but he didn't know what yet…

 _Corabat, Corabat, Corabat… regulates heartrate in somewhat the same way as Propanolol. Yox said they'd ordered an army's worth of the drug, gone out of their way to get it in different forms, probably to accommodate the different species and their differing physiologies – not a bad plan, as diabolical plans go._

 _The drug comes from Zone 2 in pill form, of course, but also tincture for the tongue, suppository, skin patch and…_

The Doctor stopped in his tracks. He was overcome with dread.

… _and injection._

And suddenly the pieces fell into place. Based on Martha's interrogation under the icy cold, foul-smelling water, and the intelligence he'd just gained, he now felt he knew Judge Rabic's plan for them.

And he couldn't decide whether to vomit, or weep with despair.

* * *

 **Okay, folks... don't fall silent again! Reviews are like writing fuel for me.**

 **And of course, thank you, as always, for reading!**


	13. The Rhythmistis Room

THE RHYTHMISTIS ROOM

It took the Doctor another hour to find the main control room. Though he had an image of the complex's layout on his goggles' display, it wasn't as though all of the super-secret sensitive stuff was labelled clearly.

That, and he had been distracted. It had now been a couple of hours since Martha had been injected with something, and hauled away. And the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that Zone 2 Corabat had been forced into her system, a drug that the visiting masses were taking, in order to regulate their heartrates while they visited this planet.

He was convinced, because it made perfect sense.

And it made him feel ill.

As he walked about in the lower recesses of the complex, searching, he couldn't help but think the worst… he was grinding on a conversation he'd had with Martha a couple of days before, the one that had sent them both into a panic, and driven them to take the first three beta blockers to stave off cardiac arrest.

She had just endured some mild torture with putrid, glacial water, in hopes that she would give up certain information about the Doctor.

"They're trying to find out my weaknesses," he had said to her.

"Yes," she had replied. "That's not all, Doctor. They know about us. They asked me if you blew up a mountain because someone kidnapped Donna."

"I did blow up a mountain… after someone kidnapped Donna, but it wasn't _because._ "

"Well, then they made a point of the fact that you don't feel about Donna the way you feel about me. Or, rather, they made a point of getting me to admit that."

The proper panic had begun then. "So, they want to see what will happen if someone does something _to you,_ someone who's not just my friend, someone I love, someone… So, they know that the worst thing they can do to me is to inflict pain upon you." By then, he'd collapsed onto his knees. "Martha… what will they do… to you?"

Now he had a clearer idea of what to expect. And he almost wished he didn't.

But there was no time to dwell on any of this: he had a planet to recalibrate before he could think about anything else.

He had come upon what looked like a centralized control room. As he looked about and assessed the equipment, he saw that the room existed to regulate just about everything about the lives of the citizens of Sercaton: the water supply, access to information, food, entertainment, travel, et cetera. But the aspect of this planet that was the Congress' single largest tool in preventing rebellion, unauthorised reproduction, and generally any kind of chaos, was the one-hundred beat-per-minute rule, keeping everyone calm, on pain of death. He knew that whatever governed that process would not be in plain sight. It would be in a specialised area… at the very least.

It seemed as though today, there was a skeleton crew in the control room – not many around working the computers. This was always good news. Except, he knew that the guard whose uniform he'd stolen was basically an underling, and he'd already been "outranked" into giving up Martha. He wondered how he would get into a restricted area.

Looking at the uniformed guards around him, though, he wondered what it was that differentiated one rank from another. They all seemed to be wearing black wet-suits, and all of the helmets and goggles were identical to his eyes. Why had the guard who had taken Martha believed his name was "Sabrak?" Was there something about the uniform that identified him as such? Was the guard who normally wore this uniform Sabrak? Or had the other guard just been guessing at who he was?

"Commander Abbly?" a voice said.

The Doctor turned, only because he was surprised to hear anyone speak. He'd been moving through the room, he thought, figuratively below the radar, because the few crew that were there seemed to be immersed in their work.

To his surprise and horror, there was an officer, having stood up from his seat at a computer terminal, staring straight at him.

He decided to take advantage of the situation. "How did you know it was me?" he asked, in a tone that was neither threatening nor inquisitive… _could_ have been a joke.

The officer cleared his throat nervously. "Well, sir, you're… you know…"

"What?"

There was hesitation, and then the officer said, "You're… short."

"Ah, I see," the Doctor said, again, hoping that his tone could have been interpreted as whimsical, or not.

"Pardon me sir, but I was told you'd be working on the Partitive Passes."

The Doctor's hearts sank... again. He knew what Partitive Passes were. He'd seen them in different places throughout the universe, mostly in regions where barbarism was commonplace, and people were oppressed and desperately wanting for entertainment. And again, the situation in which Martha was now trapped became more dire. Again, sickening pieces were falling into place, and he had to struggle to keep his voice normal.

"Working on the Partitive Passes?" he asked.

"Yes," said the officer. "I heard you were helping with the logistics. You know, selling, distributing, deciding the order."

"Yes, I was, but it's mostly sorted," the Doctor riffed.

"Actually yes, now you mention it, I'd heard that they'd been made so expensive that only a handful were sold."

This was good news to the Doctor… well, relatively speaking. But he said, "Yes, unfortunately. So instead, I've been asked to…"

"Oh, I see. Are you headed into the Rhythmistis room?"

 _Jackpot. Rhythmistis… that's got to be what I'm looking for!_

"Erm, yes."

"General Alad was just in there."

"I know," the Doctor riffed, again. "He asked me to go back in and make a quick adjustment."

"What sort of adjustment?"

Once more, the Doctor hedged his tone, as he was not familiar with the protocol here. It could have been businesslike and no-nonsense, or genuinely inquiring.

"Is that your concern?" he asked.

"No, sir," said the officer. "Sorry, sir. It's just… you'll need this. Since the General was just in there, and not enough time has passed, the lock on the door will require an override code from my department."

The officer took a cardkey out of a pouch at his waist, and handed it to the Doctor.

"Thank you," said the Doctor, and he walked in the direction he'd been going, and tried to look like he knew what he was doing.

 _Calm down, Doctor… don't run. Put the Corabat and the Partitive Passes, and all things_ Martha _out of your mind for now. Just concentrate, concentrate… slow…_

One of the walls curved round to the left, and into somewhere unknown. He followed his intuition, and hoped he was right, otherwise, "Commander Abbly" would look like a right moron. Or worse, an impostor.

The corridor curved and curved and curved, then changed directions, and went off to the right, then back to the left again. The Doctor had just begun to wonder if he'd walked into a maze and was being watched, when a door appeared.

He could clearly see the plate upon which he was to press the officer's "override" card.

"Here we go," he muttered to himself, holding the card against the plate.

The door unlatched and opened just a hair, enough for him to push his fingers through the gap, and open it completely.

And once inside, he made sure it was shut completely. He wished he had the sonic screwdriver, in order to guarantee that he would not be interrupted. But, since it seemed as though the door-locking mechanism only allowed a certain number of entries in a certain amount of time, and required a special override if one was to come in at an unexpected time, he reckoned he was probably safe. Not that he was planning on setting up camp here.

He removed his rubber helmet and breathed actual air for a few moments. Then he looked over the control panel, and sighed, feeling daunted.

Most of his attention, until this point, had been focused on finding this room… now, he had to shift gears rather wildly, and _really_ think.

He had to think about manipulating technology without the sonic screwdriver. He had to think about _not_ launching an aggressive, full-frontal attack on their computer system, so that he wouldn't be thwarted, and/or caught and killed on the spot.

"Okay, Doctor," he sighed, trying to pep-talk himself. "Start with what you know. What do you know?"

Again, a conversation he'd had with Martha came into his mind. It had been just after they'd been brought to their cell, and Martha wondered how they could regulate all heartrates on the planet.

"Heavy saturation in the course of several years, coupled with airborne censors," he had said to her. "They'll have these tiny things that can fly about and detect beats per minute, and they'd be able to use a certain quantum communicator to flood the planet's atmosphere over time. This would create a very strong 'norm,' and a very strong reaction to deviation from that norm."

The controls included a large screen that had, at the bottom, a clear representation of the planet's overall heartrate. The universe over, a visual like this was recognizable – a zigzag pattern, accompanied by some measurement of time passing, and beats per minute.

A panel off to the right had a cover over it, and the cover read _Nanobot recalibration._

 _Tiny things that can fly about and detect…_ he'd told Martha.

He opened the cover, and found an "engage" switch, and he flipped it.

Immediately on the screen, a field labelled _Nanobot recalibration_ came up, waiting for a command.

"A good place to start," he muttered. Then he added, "Ish."

Because, he knew that the original calibration of the planet, even with the help of nanobots, had taken years, way back when this so-called civilization was new. He needed to achieve the same type of normalising oversaturation in the next hour.

"Sure, Doctor. Piece of cake."

He sighed, thinking. As usual, he stood up, and began to pace. Often, when he did this, trying to focus on a particular problem, he'd have absent thoughts that had little to do with a solution, but it was a by-product of having a complex, observant, absorbent mind.

This time, among his absent thoughts was, "Blimey this is a small room. Four paces are all I can take before I have to turn around. I would have thought that a control room this important would be bigger and grander. Then again…"

 _It's a small room. It's a_ very _small room._

 _And I have two hearts._

An idea occurred to him… it wasn't a _good_ idea, particularly, but it was all he had, in the absence of a sonic screwdriver. And it might work.

He used the ball-controlled mouse-like dot on the screen to indicate that he'd like a "status update" on the nanobots.

"In stasis," the computer replied. "Last used…" It gave a date that indicated that the nanobots had not been deployed in a few months.

That meant that all of the nanobots were at his disposal. The bots were the chief tool that the Congress used in controlling the heartrates of the populace. Everyone's heartrate stayed below one hundred beats per minute, and every now and then, the Rhythmistis technician would send out the fleet of nanobots to detect heartrates, and send the data back to the computer. The average heartrate detected would become "the norm," and an acceptable standard deviation would be set as the maximum.

Like everything, the system was prone to entropy, but they could keep it maintained by deploying the bots at regular intervals.

This was basically how it had been done when it all started two thousand years before, with the despotic ruler Lubon the Terrible, wanting to control the masses. Except, not only had they had several years to perfect it, but they had also had a quantum communicator at their disposal, which would have been used to flood the planet's atmosphere with the normalised rhythm. Since then, that type of machinery had become illegal in this sector of the universe.

The Doctor didn't really believe that the device's becoming illegal would stop the Congress of Sercaton from using it anyway, but he also knew that after the initial calibration had been done, they wouldn't need it again. Also, their computer systems had been improved since then (hence the TARDIS' ability to accidentally penetrate a previously-closed atmosphere).

But whatever. It just meant that he probably wouldn't be able to supercharge a quantum communicator in order to get this job done more quickly.

"That's okay," he said aloud. "We're in tight quarters and I've got two hearts. Which might sound daft to anyone listening, so it's a good thing no-one is listening."

What he needed was to normalize the atmosphere with a much higher maximum heartrate than one hundred beats per minute, so that the TARDIS could come back, without feeling strangled.

"But who says _atmosphere_ means _the planet's_ atmosphere, eh?"

The computer was waiting for further commands concerning the nanobots. He clicked on, "Recalibrate."

The computer asked for coordinates, and then gave the Doctor the choice to click on a default setting, that would send the bots all over the planet. He clicked on "Manual," then typed in "Rhythmistis Room."

The computer took a frighteningly long time to process this.

Then, it asked, "You have commanded that all recalibrating nanobots be sent to the Rhythmistis Room, within the Congress of Sercaton. Is this correct?"

"Yes," the Doctor said aloud, as he clicked on "Yes."

"Are you sure?" the computer asked.

"Oh, for crying out loud, yes," he sighed, and clicked.

"Please wait," the computer said.

He took this opportunity to agitate his body. It would be no small feat, since he'd taken beta blockers, but it could be done. He began doing jumping jacks as fast as he could.

After he'd done a hundred, then he dropped to the floor, and forced himself to do push-ups in an unnaturally quick rhythm.

When he couldn't anymore, he stood up again, and ran in place. He tried to invoke the image of a fan, moving blindingly fast, displacing the air around it. He ran and ran, pulling his knees all the way up to his chest each time he took a step, expending as much energy as possible. He began to sweat and he felt his heartrate rise, even against the blockers' restriction…

He ran faster and faster until it hurt, and his voice rang out in the tight space, as he screamed with the strain and pain…

And suddenly, the message on the screen said _Nanobots deployed,_ and he stopped moving.

Billions of bug-like robots began to appear in the room, darkening it little by little, and the buzz became deafening.

The Doctor panted, "Oh boy. This is going to hurt."

* * *

 **Okay, again, perhaps not the most pulse-pounding chapter in history, but I'd like to hear from you anyway! Reviews are love, and have been precious and few on this story... thank you for reading!**

 **(Sorry if the explanation of what he's doing is a bit vague... if you'd like a better one, PM me.)**


	14. Distress

**Hi everyone! Thank you for catering to my neediness... so great to get feedback on something I spend time on. I appreciate that so, so much. Thanks!**

 **If you had trouble working out what was happening in that little room with the Doctor, I apologize! Here's a bit of an up-to-speed blurb:**

 **The Doctor is in a room with a few billion nanobots. Normally, they would fly around the planet, taking readings from its inhabitants, finding out the median heartrate. Then, they would send data back to the main computer, which would then choose a maximum heartrate for the planet, based on the median. Once that's done, anyone whose heartrate goes above the maximum, as you know, basically has a heart attack and risks death. This action is performed periodically, to keep the planet's mechanism in shape.**

 **The Doctor directed the nanobots to all gather in the room, not all over the planet, and scan all life forms for a median heart-rate. Since he is the only life-form in the room, he is hoping it will read his particular heartrate as that of the planet. He spent a few minutes trying to get his pulse up, though it was difficult with beta blockers in his system... plus, he has two hearts. ;-)**

 **And away we go!**

* * *

DISTRESS

It wasn't the first time in his life that the Doctor hadn't thought something through. And like many times before, he'd almost intentionally avoided _really_ considering what this might look and feel like, because the reality was terrifying and he might have lost his nerve.

A swarm of billions of nanobots appeared in a tiny control room, where the Doctor had worked hard for several minutes to get his heartrate up as high as the beta blockers would allow.

The Doctor panted, "Oh boy. This is going to hurt."

And he silently prayed it would be worth the pain and _work_.

And that he'd survive.

It would be embarrassing to regenerate here in this room. And problematic for many reasons, not the least of which was Martha.

The bots were just doing their job, and were miniscule. An their own, they were almost undetectable, and hardly made any vibration at all.

But billions of them…

He felt suffocated. The sheer pressure of all of them surrounding him, scanning him at once… it was painful, stifling. It made him feel like his skin was buzzing, and not in a good way. He couldn't help but try and protect his head and face. And swat at them, even though they were doing exactly what they should be.

The room was dark and thick. The piling-on of tiny vibrations made the place hum so loudly, he couldn't even hear his own voice yelling, protesting this turn of events.

Eventually, the Doctor became disoriented, and as he moved about the room, he tripped over the chair parked at the control desk, and found himself on the floor… still swatting, still intensely uncomfortable, wondering how long this would take, and if he'd make it out of there with his body and sanity both intact.

 _How long before they realise I'm not in my cell?_

 _How long before they realise the planet's been recalibrated?_

 _How long before they give up on me, and kill Martha without my participation?_

 _Will I still be here writhing on the floor when all of that happens, and be re-captured, welcoming of death afterwards?_

The uncertainty might have been the worst part. With no idea how long this process would it take, was it all in vain?

But also, the claustrophobia was growing and growing. His frantic movements were causing the bots to work their way into his black rubber-like clothing, tight though it was, which made the whole business even more uncomfortable.

He could barely breathe without inhaling nanobots, in fact, he was fairly certain that he _had_ , in fact, breathed in a few.

 _Hold your breath, Doctor – you don't need a thousand of these things inside you._

 _But for how long?_

 _How long has it been?_

 _Oh, God... the bots think they're scanning a whole planet. In that case it could be hours! Days! Martha will be long dead by then…_

In his tool belt, Martha's mobile phone rang. He knew it was Colin and/or Donna calling with a status update on the TARDIS, but there was no way he could answer it right now.

He cursed loudly. He realised that in all of the conversations he'd had with them overnight, he had not had the presence of mind to give them directions on how to move the TARDIS to the complex of the Congress of Sercaton, once it was safe to do so. If he had, then they would likely to it on their own, once they realised he wasn't answering the phone…

That is, if the TARDIS was well enough to move.

 _Damn it, I don't know if the TARDIS is well enough to move!_

It was moot anyway, if his companions on Earth didn't have directives from him, but still, _not knowing_ concerning the TARDIS' health… well, it was a certain kind of agony for him.

He wondered if maybe he could answer the call if he covered the receiver to talk, but even reaching for the phone proved a chore. Nanobots swarmed round every part of him, including his hands, and then they got inside the pocket where the phone was stored. He couldn't even really touch the device, for all the tiny sensors in the way…

Plus, there were bots swarming his ears, and he wouldn't be able to hear.

He gave a stark, crackling cry with profound pain, discomfort and frustration. For his effort, he found his mouth swarmed as well.

 _Holy Rassilon, I hope this works._

* * *

Martha Jones was horrified. Luckily, she'd been injected with something that was keeping her heartrate steady…

…though she was not sure exactly how "lucky" she should feel about that, as she was not sure exactly why they'd given her that injection. She knew it probably had something to do with the execution, but the real reason why had not yet occurred to her.

She wondered if the Doctor had eventually been discovered dressed as an officer, captured and injected as well.

She wondered if the dosage they'd given him had put out his lights, given that he'd already taken two human beta blockers, or whether it simply turned him into a zombie.

Come to that, she wondered if he was still alive.

 _He has to be… we already know that they're going to use me to kill him. And they wouldn't let him die before parading him before the masses._

But all of these thoughts had had to take a back-seat to the here-and-now: the trial.

Though, her trial was over. She had listened as Judge Rabic had once again read out the charges to her: warlike invasion of Sercatonian airspace, reckless flying, violent incursion upon Sercatonian soil, extended trespassing upon Sercatonian soil, and her favourite, furthering the Time Lord cause. By Rabic's own admission, Martha had technically done nothing to merit death, but he'd planned on "selling" her spectacular execution to the masses by pointing out that she had helped a Time Lord in his agenda. Apparently it was now an official offence she had committed, and yes, she had been sentenced to death.

This had not been surprising.

What _had_ been surprising was when they sat her down in the gallery and announced she would now be sitting through another trial: that of the TARDIS.

And _this_ was why she was horrified.

The TARDIS was not here, and couldn't really defend herself even if she were. So-called officials charged the sentient blue box with the same crimes as Martha, made arguments against her, and subsequently, she was sentenced to death as well.

Martha had known this lot wanted the Doctor's transport, and knew they might love dismantling it, but she hadn't seen this coming.

Her own execution was pending… as was the Doctor's. She still, as always, had faith that he would be able to get them both out of this jam. But the TARDIS was a different story. If the Sercatonians had a way of bringing her back here, and they managed to do it before the planet got recalibrated (when would that happen? Come on, Doctor, come on…), then it would likely be extremely difficult for the Doctor to save her. And the thought of what would happen to him if the TARDIS was killed by these fiends…

Tears streamed down her face as a sort of gavel was struck upon the wooden bench, and Judge Rabic declared the fate of the universe's last living TARDIS as sealed.

Just at the end of all of the horrifying proceedings, an officer rushed into the court chamber, demanding Judge Rabic's attention.

"There are multiple reports of atmospheric disturbance," he man said.

"Well, that's vague," the Judge complained. "What sort of disturbance?"

"No-one is sure yet, sir."

"When you say, _multiple reports,_ what does that mean?"

"It means, it's coming from the Law Enforcement, Military Surveillance, and Energy Management departments."

"It's probably just a storm front."

"Very, possible, sir," said the officer. "Energy Management is suggesting it might be just that."

"Thank you, Olby. Executions will go ahead as planned… even if there's a little rain," the Judge said, condescendingly.

Officer Olby bowed, then left the room.

 _It's not rain,_ Martha thought. _Though, it just might be an Oncoming Storm._

* * *

"He's not answering," Donna said, her voice showing signs of acute concern. "What d'you reckon that means?"

"I'm sure I have no idea, Donna," Colin told her. "You'd know better than I would!"

"They're in trouble," she said, shaking her head, and cutting off the call.

"Haven't they been in trouble for days, now?"

"Yeah, but the Doctor has at least been available to answer the phone," she said. "What's changed?"

She desperately did not want to think, let alone _say_ the word 'execution,' but given the circumstances, it was hard not to.

Colin looked about the TARDIS console room. "Well, the good news is, maybe soon, this mad old ship will be be ready to go, and we can get them out of there."

"But the bad news is, she's still not _ready_ ready, and even if she were, we've got no instructions! I can't set coordinates for planet Circus-thon, can you?"

"I'm just trying to see the silver lining," he said. "You're alive, feeling well, and upright. The Doctor and Martha are both wicked clever, and yeah, they're in a jam, but rubbish like this happens to them all the time. And the TARDIS is making progress."

"Yeah," she sighed.

"I get that there's still a hell of a lot of work to do, but let's not nail that last bolt into our coffins until we need to, yeah?"

She looked him over with surprise. "Well, Mr. Brownhill, how the tables have turned! Aren't you meant to be the sceptical one?"

He hugged her. "I suppose. I'm just feeling better than I was a few hours ago, because I'm so chuffed that _you're_ feeling better. Can't a guy just be happy… ish?"

And that was when they heard it: the familiar sound of the vortex slipping through the heart of the TARDIS. The currently very fragile heart of the TARDIS.

"What's going on?" Colin asked. "What's it doing?"

"Moving!" Donna shouted, holding onto the console.

"Why? How can it do that?"

"I dunno… maybe the Doctor's doing it remotely?"

"What?"

"I think I've seen him summon the TARDIS using the sonic screwdriver… maybe?"

Colin picked up a silver, cylindrical apparatus from the console in front of him. "You mean _this_ sonic screwdriver?"

She looked at it with surprise. "Oh! Blimey!"

"It moved without coordinates when it answered your distress," he offered.

"Shit! That means…"

"That means…"

They waited another few seconds for the TARDIS' grinding gears to stop at its new destination. And when it did, the lights went out again.

"Damn it!" Donna spat. "You daft girl! You weren't ready."

She stroked the console, the way she'd seen the Doctor do, unsure if this was really of any comfort to the TARDIS, but she had no idea what else to do.

"But there's light, at least," Colin said."

"That's true!" Donna chirped. "Didn't the Doctor describe the inside of the TARDIS as being completely pitch-black when they were here the first time? With just, like, a hint of a green glow coming from the column there in the middle, so that they didn't run into stuff?"

"Yeah…" Colin answered absently, walking around the platform surrounding the control panels. "Didn't they say _no light_ coming from those things?" he asked, pointing at the circles along the walls.

"He did," Donna replied, noticing that there was, in fact, a faint light coming from the roundels. She leaned forward, and pressed her ear against the console, and could hear a hum. She even saw the tiniest signs-of-life coming from between the controls. She whispered, "She's sick. She's not in a coma."

"How do you know?"

"I dunno," she said. "Just a feeling. "I've been in both Hypertensive Crisis and a coma over the past month at different times and… I feel that this is not the coma. It's the other thing. Which means the Doctor has been able to reset the heartbeat of the planet. Just a smidge, but that's something!"

"I'll say," Colin said, softly, but with a hint of the positive in his voice.

"If I'm right, that is," she said. Then she sighed. "It's still going to be awkward getting out of here in a hurry."

"Yes, but it's better than pitch-dark," he said. "And, hopefully, when it comes time to flee, we'll have the Doctor with us, and he'll have either recalibrated the planet by then, or he'll be able to coax her into cooperating… even if she's ill."

She put her hand on her hip. "He does have that effect."

"I've noticed," Colin said, with a smirk.

Donna walked down the ramp, and pressed her ear to the door to the outside. "There's a crowd gathering."

"So, we're not out in the middle of nowhere, like where they crash-landed."

"Nope. We're in the thick of it. But we know that the Doctor and Martha must be close, because the TARDIS chose this spot."

"How will we protect her?"

"Who? The TARDIS?"

"Yes. I mean, she's kind of helpless right now, isn't she?"

Donna smiled. "Bless. She has a perception filter, which means that unless someone _knows_ she's here, she won't really be noticed."

"Okay," he said, swallowing hard, and coming down the ramp to meet her. "So… let's go out there. See what we can see."

Donna batted her eyes at him. "This is your first off-world adventure with the Doctor and the rest of the wacky TARDIS crew. Pretty exciting."

"Exciting. Yeah."

"It's all right," she said. "Just don't bring attention to yourself unless and until you need to. Watch what's going on around you, try to blend in…"

"Oh God," he groaned, and she could tell unequivocally that he was terrified.

"You gonna be okay?" she asked, taking his hand.

"I think so," he said.

"You don't have to come."'

"Yes, I bloody well do!"

"Okay," Donna said. "How about one last little snog before we risk life and limb, eh?"

He chuckled, and pressed her against the door, happy for the chance to ravage her lips, and feel like a man… one who knew what the hell he was doing, for once. He was mindful of this final chance to be hopeful for the future, before walking into probably more danger than he had ever been in, in his entire life.

This up and down of adrenaline was bloody weird, and this was how the Doctor, Martha and Donna lived their lives all the time. And had done for some time.

But as he and Donna melted into one another, if only briefly, he knew that this magnificent creature was worth every bit of uncertainty, danger, and fear that any of the "wacky TARDIS crew" could put him through. Just to be near her made it good. He could see it becoming, in time, _fun,_ even.

Until something seized him.

"What the hell is that?" he asked, his mouth still pressed against hers.

"What are you? Thirty-seven years old, and you don't know?" she chuckled.

He pulled away. "No, Donna… it's in my chest. It's like…"

He began to cough.

"Oh! It's the planet!" she exclaimed.

* * *

 **And now all *five* of our heroes are on Sercaton! Execution is closing in!**

 **Let me know what you're thinking, friends! Keep the reviews coming - I've been sooooo uplifted by them!**

 **Thank you for reading!**


	15. Things Changing Fast

**The business of changing the planet, rescuing Martha, etc. has begun!**

* * *

THINGS CHANGING FAST

As luck would have it, Donna had emerged from her state of Hypertensive Crisis, wanting to "freshen up" as they say. She had pulled on a fresh pair of jeans, a white tee-shirt and a black nylon hoodie that always made her feel clean and chic. It would've been completely inappropriate for an early-autumn holiday on a Portuguese beach, but fortunately, she had all of her belongings from the TARDIS at her disposal, even though her room was still a bit cold.

The advantage to a hoodie was, of course, the very handy front pockets where she had a habit of shoving things whenever she wore it.

This was lucky, because when Colin went into cardiac arrest in response to the planet Sercaton, like Martha before her, she realised she had absent-mindedly shoved her medication into her pocket before getting distracted by something.

"Don't move," Donna said, putting the little box of pills in Colin's shaking hand. "I'm going to go get you some water."

She ran down the hall faster than she can ever remember running (as an adult, anyway) and yanked open the fridge, grabbing a half-full bottle of water, and sprinting back. The TARDIS was keeping the necessary channels lit for her.

Colin promptly swallowed down one beta blocker, along with the rest of the bottle of water. Within just a few minutes, he felt calmer, with no tightening of the chest, nor shortness of breath.

"Jesus," he breathed. "That was terrifying."

"Oh, come on," she teased. "What's a little heart attack, really?"

He chuckled. "Blimey, this life has jaded you."

She kissed him, then her face shifted into something a bit more serious. "Now comes the hard part."

"Yeah," he said.

She peeked out the door of the TARDIS, and interestingly, saw mostly humanoids buzzing about, seemingly of all walks of life – literally all colours, all shapes and sizes, several genders (or so it seemed), various head-sizes and arm-lengths, all different manner of sensory perception. Some had eyes, some did not. Some had ears, some did not. They noticed a tall, gangly being walk past whose head seemed to be just a purple bulb with a lone antenna sticking out the top. The antenna moved about as though taking in the world around it… Donna assumed that this was how the being navigated life.

But most importantly, what this varied tableau demonstrated to them was, it seemed like they could move about freely without really being noticed.

"Let's go," she said, taking his hand.

Together, they exited the TARDIS onto a grassy green patch of land. Nearby, there was some sort of complex, where they could clearly see there was an opening to what looked like a sporting event. People were excited, filing in, most without handing over tickets, though a small handful did seem to have an entry pass of some sort.

Colin and Donna joined the "no tickets" line, and were promptly ushered past the threshold into a common area that reminded them a little of a much larger Globe Theatre. But this was not before they noticed that ticket-holders were being told to take their places in a specially designated area just in front of the stage, and that when they were called, they could go through a corridor off to their right.

"I wonder what that's all about," Colin mused. "Like VIP passes or something?"

"Dunno," Donna responded. "We should probably find out."

"How? Tell them we left ours at home, but we _swear_ we bought them?"

"No…" she said, rather distractedly, now staring at a point beyond Colin's head. "But I think we should work out what _that_ is all about first."

He turned and looked, and his breath hitched. He was very glad he'd taken something to keep his heartrate under control, or this sight would have killed him almost on the spot.

On the stage, to their right, they saw what their Earth eyes recognised as an implement of medieval torture, meant for strapping a person down, and breaking their bones against the hard, wooden structure. Surely enough, there was a three-foot-high bucket sitting beside it with a sledge hammer protruding from it.

"Holy shit, is that _a breaking wheel?_ " Colin shouted.

"Shh!" Donna scolded. "And yes, that's what it looks like to me."

"And what the hell is all that rubbish on the table beside it?"

The surface gleamed with metal instruments, some of them sharp, some of them pointy, some of them blunt, some of them oddly inscrutable… all of them terrifying. There was also something that looked like it might shoot electric pulses, a steaming cube of dry ice, and a very large pitcher of water.

"I think we both know the answer to that question, Colin," she said, squeezing his hand.

"What…. what the… this is…"

"Shhh," she reminded him. "Don't worry. We'll get them out."

On the left side of the stage, there was an apparatus that looked like a dolly. It was a five-foot-high, concave metal structure on wheels, with a platform at the bottom. Down each side, there were straps, and the thing looked just about wide enough for a human (or Time Lord). It reminded Donna of the film _The Silence of the Lambs,_ and the device the prison officials used to transport Hannibal Lecter, only there didn't seem to be a mask involved, or a gag of any sort.

They studied this, and Colin shook his head. "This is mad," he declared.

"You're not wrong," she agreed.

"How are they going to use _that_?" referring to the Lecter-style restraint.

"I don't know," Donna said. "Just… let's not give them a chance to do it."

"Don't we need a plan?" he asked

"Yeah," she sighed. "Which is so much harder without the Doctor. But, I reckon we just need more info about this place and what might happ…"

And that was when they heard a moderated, but penetrating voice nearby.

"What do you mean the calibration is changing? Why would they do that? _How_ could they do that?"

They turned instinctively and saw two tall beings dressed in what seemed to them to be rubber wet-suits from head to toe, including rubber helmets, complete with goggles and a sharp-looking grate for the mouth.

They had seen beings that looked like this at the front gates, and had assumed (rightly, as it turned out) that these were the guards of the complex, and natives to Sercaton.

"I don't know," said the other guard. "But don't you feel it? Something in the air…"

"Now you mention it…"

"I have a highly-attuned sense of the planet's energies, ever since I was a child," said the second guard. "And something is off. It's been recalibrated… or maybe is in the process of recalibration."

"I don't know how that's even possible, but… do you think we should alert someone? See if they want us to check out the Rhythmistis room just in case?"

"I think we should, yeah. If someone's messing with the equipment, they're going to want to…"

And with that, the two guards made their way through the crowd out of Donna and Colin's hearing range.

But the humans had heard enough. They looked at each other, both knowing that the Doctor was at work.

And was about to be found out.

Donna trained her eyes on the guards, who had not quite yet disappeared into the crowd. She pulled Colin along with her, following the tall rubber-clad guys. It was their best bet at finding the Doctor.

* * *

The Doctor wondered lots of things in these moments.

He wondered if he was the first living, walking being to suffer the swarm of billions of nanobots – the noise, the weight, the general unpleasantness…

He wondered if he would ever be able to breathe again. By now, he was trying to hold his breath, because the nanobots were in his ears, mouth and nose, and any inhalation meant that he'd have tiny electronic sensors in his lungs, perhaps forever. He was hacking, coughing, expelling some bots, but inhaling others. He had already felt the respiratory bypass kick in, become overwhelmed, and fail.

Twistedly, he wondered what would happen now if he opened his eyes. Would he _see_ the nanobots swarming his eyeballs, or would everything just go dark, and would there then be bots under his eyelids as well?

And he wondered morbidly if the gold glow had already begun…

His lungs burned, his hearts raced as much as they could under the thumb of the beta blockers, and he genuinely wasn't sure he would survive.

 _At least I went out trying to help. Trying to get the TARDIS back here, save Martha, and perhaps by extension, every oppressed citizen of Sercaton._

He was also aware that even if he regenerated here, he would wake up in a new body, still surrounded by nanobots, still choked, still horrified…

 _And can you imagine what the recalibration will look like if the bots use my regenerative process as a gauge? Whoa!_

 _Well, I'd almost like to see that…_

And then, something miraculous happened.

The bots withdrew from his mouth.

He even felt small wisps of something flying up and out of his oesophagus. This made him cough. But when he inhaled again, he breathed in clean air.

The bots left his nose and ears, and withdrew from the area between the fingers of his clenched fists.

He chanced to open his eyes now, and saw, without a doubt, billions of nanobots retreating from his person, and flying confusedly into the corner of the room. Evidently, they were still not sure quite what they were doing, and why they didn't have the whole planet available to them… but it didn't matter. Because, little by little, they disappeared, and the Doctor stood up, and could see the data on the screen changing.

There was, at the bottom, a clear representation of the planet's overall heartrate – a zigzag pattern, accompanied by some measurement of time passing, and beats per unit of time. A message popped up on the screen that said _"Nanobot recalibration complete; please wait."_

After about twenty seconds, the zigzag pattern changed dramatically, and read that the planet's average heartbeat was something like two hundred beats per minute.

In the past, all Sercatonian heartrates stayed below one hundred beats per minute. Whenever there was a recalibration, the average heartrate detected would become "the norm," and an acceptable standard deviation would be set as the maximum.

The data on the screen now reported that the maximum heartrate for Sercaton was now two-hundred-twenty beats per minute. Then, the machinery seemed to power down, and wait for further instructions.

Upon entering the room, the Doctor had reminded himself of two things: his heartrate couldn't really go above one hundred because of the beta blockers, and also, _he has two hearts_.

Because of the work he'd done to increase his BPM, and the panic that had ensued after that, and the fact that the bots had no idea he was a Time Lord, they'd read a double one-hundred BPM as _two_ -hundred BPM. This was exactly what he'd been hoping would happen.

 _Heh. They think I'm a planet. No-one's ever thought that before – can't say it's not empowering._

He was satisfied now that he had some time and freedom to do what he needed to do, in order to rescue Martha. He still did not know the status of the TARDIS, but he had calmed somewhat, and was able to talk himself into worrying about only one thing at a time.

* * *

The place was dark, but Martha could hear a crowd outside. She knew without asking that she'd been transported to the place where she was to be executed, alongside the Doctor, and apparently, the TARDIS. She had no idea whether the Doctor was within their grasp or not, and had no real idea of whether the TARDIS could even come to Sercaton and survive, even without the execution…

 _Come on, love. Be impossible! Now's the time!_

A guard came into the cold room where she was waiting with her arms bound behind her back, and said, "We're just waiting on a few logistics, and then you'll be escorted onto the stage."

"Wonderful."

He pushed a button on the side of his goggles, and said, "It looks like Judge Rabic himself wants to begin the torture proceedings first, and we will call for Partitive Passes."

She gulped. There was that word, _torture_. She'd been wondering if this would figure into the equation… of course it would. This was why she'd been given a drug to keep her heartrate low: so she could endure torture without dying of a Sercaton-induced heart-attack. It would keep her alive and in pain longer, which would drive the Doctor's heartrate up, and kill him. Probably more than once.

Now it was clear.

Except the Doctor had beta blockers in him, and wouldn't die the way they thought he would. She reckoned this was _probably_ a good thing, but it would most definitely complicate things. It _could_ , depending on the status of things, mean that they both suffered a lot longer…

But the matter-of-fact, professional, procedural way in which the guard discussed her torture… this enraged her. However, she managed to keep her emotions at bay for a moment, so she could ask, "Partitive Passes? What are those?"

"Hm? Oh, those are passes sold to spectators who want to participate in the... proceedings."

Her stomach hit the floor.

"I see," she said, her voice now quivering. "So… people in the audience who want to help torture me."

"Well, yes," agreed the guard. "Although, to be fair, it's more about their vendetta against the Doctor. And we haven't sold very many. If you ask me, they've been made prohibitively expensive."

"What a great comfort," she mused, sarcastically.

"Anyway, depending upon how things go with the Partitive Passes, an interrogator may or may not have to re-take the reins."

"So, if one of the spectators' sadistic whims doesn't cause my horrifying death, then a professional will have to finish me off."

"Sort of. Again, it's more about the Doctor. If _he's_ still alive after all that, then a professional will continue the ministrations."

"I see."

"It's good politics to do it that way. I've been told you're exceedingly clever for a human – I'm sure you understand."

With that, the guard left the room again, and Martha slumped with her back to the wall, and wept.

* * *

 **Thank you, once again, for all the wonderful reviews. It really has been of help to me!**

 **Keep 'em coming, please, and thanks for reading! :-)**


	16. Killing Me Loudly

**Donna and Colin are on Sercaton now, and someone's been alerted to the fact that "something" isn't right in the air... though they can't quite put their finger on _what_. Either way Donna and Colin figure it would be best to follow them, because where there's trouble, there's the Doctor!**

* * *

KILLING ME LOUDLY

Donna and Colin followed the two tall, gangly guys in wet suits through the crowd, and into a gigantic building attached to the sporting area. They were not alone within the corridors; there were a few "beings" milling about inside.

"What are these folks doing, looking for concessions?" asked Colin.

"Shush. Just be glad they are," she retorted. "Otherwise, we would be ridiculously conspicuous."

Down myriad hallways with dizzying twists and turns, they tried to act like they simply belonged there, and knew exactly where they were headed. They were just a bit astonished that the guards never noticed their presence, but even Colin, the novice, had the good sense not to say anything about it.

Donna wondered if the guards _had_ noticed them, but were pretending not to, so as to lead them into a trap.

 _Well, life with the Doctor means sometimes you knowingly walk into a trap, in order to save the people you care about. Colin will get that soon enough._

But the gig was up when the two guards walked through an official-looking door, with a sign that said, "Authorised personnel only."

"How is that in English?" Colin wondered.

"The TARDIS translates for us," Donna said, whispering. She pressed her ear to the door, and said, "Haven't you noticed that everyone around us appears to be _speaking_ in English, as well?"

He looked about at the few people in the hallway, going places, and said, "Oh yeah. Weird."

"Look, whatever," she said. "Just act natural. Cover me."

"Cover you? You mean cover up the fact that you've got your ear pressed to a door you're not supposed to walk through?"

"Yes," she answered. "Shh."

She heard the two guard who had gone inside tittering a bit, but could not hear what they were saying. Then, after a minute or so, a third voice joined them.

"I'm sorry, but we were not able to obtain you access to the Rhythmistis room," said the voice.

"But can't you feel it?" asked one of the guards they'd followed. "Something in the air?"

"I can," said the third voice. "Commander Abbly has been in, making adjustments."

"Adjustments? This is more than an adjustment!"

"I'm sorry, but I cannot grant you access."

"Well, I don't need your bloody permission," said the first guard, and there were hard-falling footsteps.

"Actually," said the third voice, loudly enough to stop the footsteps. "You do. My department has to give an override code when there are successive visitors to the Rhythmistis room. You'd be the third visitor today, so my superiors have to send me _their_ code – I can't just…"

"Our planet is being tampered with!"

"I saw Commander Abbly himself!" protested the third voice.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes. Short, and just a little bit clueless."

"Oh!" Donna whispered. "Short and clueless… that's got to be the Doctor!"

"Short?" Colin asked.

"If he's disguised as a guard, he'll be considered short. Those other guys were, what? Six-foot-five? Six-foot-six or seven?"

"I'm sorry, but you'll have to retreat," said the third voice. "This sort of thing is out of your jurisdiction anyhow. Just go police the crowd like you're meant to."

The two guards grumbled, and moved toward the door. Colin and Donna dashed away, and hid round the corner. They'd managed now to find a pretty deserted area in the building.

Once they were sure that the guards were out of earshot, Colin said, rather loudly, "Well that's a fine how-d'you-do! If two uniformed guards can't get into that _whatsit_ room, then we sure as hell can't!"

"Colin, lower your voice," Donna ordered.

"Why do we need to get in there, again?"

"Because it's the last place we know the Doctor was!"

"Do we really know that, though?"

"No," she admitted. "But in this life, you rarely _know_ anything. You've just got to take your best shot. It's an educated shot, mind you."

And that's when they heard it.

"Donna?" a voice said, from somewhere unknown.

She frowned. "Doctor?"

A door across the hall opened, and a Time Lord, dressed from neck-to-toe in a black wet suit, stuck his head out.

"Oh my God!" she exclaimed and jumped on him for a hug. "What're you doing here?"

"Ow! Ow!" he retorted. "And shush! Get in here!"

She let go and slipped in through the door. The Doctor grabbed a stunned Colin by the wrist and pulled him in as well, shutting the door behind them.

"What is this?" Colin asked, looking about. The tiny room was filled with what looked like floor-to ceiling drawers.

"File room," the Doctor said. "I reckon it's backup data, just in case the computers go down. After I left the Rhythmistis room…"

"See, I knew he'd been in there!" Donna shouted.

"I was afraid I was being followed, so I slipped in here."

"How long have you been in here?" she wondred.

"Just a minute or two," the Doctor replied.

"Actually, never mind that," Donna said. "What's happened to Martha?"

"We tried to escape, but we weren't out the door ten minutes when she was taken, and injected with something to keep her heartrate regulated," the Doctor told them. "I couldn't go after her because I didn't want to give myself away. If I'd done that, we'd both be dead."

"Why would they inject her with something to keep her heartrate down?" Donna wondered.

The Doctor looked at Colin. "Look… keep your cool, okay?"

Colin's eyes grew big. "Why? Is that bloody breaking wheel for her?"

"Breaking wheel?" the Doctor asked.

"We saw one on the stage when we came through the arena thingie," Donna said.

"Well, I reckon it _is_ for her," the Doctor sighed. "Damn it. But the good news is, I don't think they'll begin torturing her until they have me in custody."

"How's that? Wouldn't that be a blooming great way to flush you out, mate?" Colin asked,

"It might," the Doctor answered. "But they're going to want me to _watch._ It's how they think they can kill me. Keep her heartrate low, so she doesn't die from a heart attack while they're… doing whatever they're planning on doing to her, so it's as long and painful as possible. Meanwhile, I'm nearby, losing my mind, dying over and over again, watching her be slowly tortured and eventually - _eventually -_ killed. Though I reckon they think they can keep her alive until I'm done."

"Shit," Colin spat.

"But what they don't know is a) I've taken Beta Blockers to keep my heartrate low too – it was the only way I could subdue the guard so we could escape, and b) I've been able to recalibrate the planet's oppressive heartbeat to two-hundred-twenty BPM."

"Which won't stop them from torturing her, it'll just stop you from dying… which means you _both_ suffer for longer," Colin surmised.

"Yes, but, again, if they don't have me, they are unlikely to start on her… wait," the Doctor said, stopping in his tracks. "Sorry, but… how'd you two get here? Does this mean the TARDIS is back to her old self again?"

"The TARDIS is still sort of dark, Doctor," Donna reported. "I'd say she's still a bit under the weather. Of course, that was when we arrived… since you've _recalibrated the planet_ – blimey that sounds daft – she might be doing better."

"Good, but… how did you figure out how to fly her here?" the Doctor asked.

"We thought it was probably a distress signal," Donna told him, gently. "That you or Martha was probably in enough peril that…"

"Oh, God," the Doctor groaned. "That is not good."

"The TARDIS must have sensed that your deaths were planned, and that they would be hideous," Donna said. "Just like she did for me."

"Martha must be closer to the gallows than I realised," he said, burying both hands in his hair. "Where's the TARDIS? We're going to need her for a quick getaway. Let's pray she's up to it."

Just then, there was a blipping noise. They all looked around in askance, wondering what it was.

The Doctor realised that the sound was coming from inside the rubber helmet he'd left on the floor.

"It's a communiqué," he said, and he pulled the helmet on, to see what the goggles had to say.

He pressed the button on the side of the goggles designated to accept communication from official sources.

The message on the screen read, " _The TARDIS has been detected back on Sercatonian soil_." A screen-shot of instruments meant to detect anomalies in the atmosphere came up, and the TARDIS' energy signature appeared incontrovertibly in the data. The Doctor also noticed data subtly suggesting the recalibration he had done, but the disturbance caused by the TARDIS was, luckily, overwhelming it. For now.

More text came across the screen then. " _All available personnel will be needed to assist in locating the vessel, and moving it toward the stage for execution."_

"For execution?" the Doctor spat. "What the hell's _she_ done?"

"What are you talking about?" Colin asked.

"The TARDIS! They want her executed too?"

Another communiqué came in then, and the Doctor pressed the button to accept.

" _Prison personnel have been deployed to collect the Doctor, and found his cell empty_ ," appeared on the screen. " _Locating him is top priority. The TARDIS is now secondary. All personnel not currently guarding the arena or the stage are to be occupied in locating the Doctor."_

"Okay, they're going to be coming after me now," he said. "But the good news is, they're ignoring the TARDIS until they find me, and all personnel are focused on that, so that's just bought us a little more time before they work out that the median heartrate of the planet has been recalibrated. We've got to get Martha out of here, and get back to the TARDIS as quickly as we can. Here's what I need from the two of you. When we leave here, turn left and go…"

" _Good afternoon, Doctor,"_ a voice said, from somewhere, interrupting them well and truly.

"Shit, they've found us," Colin whispered.

"No, they haven't," the Doctor told him. "It's the tannoy. It's all over the building."

" _This is Judge Rabic,"_ the voice said. " _I was just informed that you've been a very naughty boy indeed. You'll be interested to know that trial is no longer necessary, because we have incontrovertible evidence that you have evaded your superiors, and resisted the will of the Sercatonian Congress. Your execution can be carried out, without any further ado. Well, your trial was going to be quick anyway… now it's one less thing._ " Rabic's voice was relatively businesslike.

But that soon changed.

" _Now, you may be thinking, 'ah, but I've escaped into the labyrinthine complex, you'll have to find me before you can execute me,' but I beg to differ, Doctor,"_ Rabic said, his voice now having taken on a diabolical singsong tone. _"We reckon we can achieve your death, no matter where you've managed to get to, in the Congressional complex."_

With that, they heard the voices of a thousand beings, the crowd that had gathered to witness his death, was listening, and loving this.

" _And we know you must still be here, Doctor,_ " the Judge went on, his voice dripping with sickening mockery, false empathy. _"Because we have your Martha. Given the so-called_ love _you two share, and the close, personal relationship that exists between you, there's no possibility that you've left without her._

" _And indeed, Doctor, it is that very_ love _that we intend to exploit. You may think that just because we don't copulate on this planet, that we don't understand those who do. Well, you'd be mistaken. We understand it well. We understand that such a filthy, excitement-inducing, bodily act of shameful abandon can cause something like_ attachment _between two afflicted beings, and that, dependent upon the species and circumstances of the coupling,_ love _can be believed to form._

" _These are all phenomena that the great planet of Sercaton has risen above. It's why we feel no remorse, but rather, entitlement to do…_ this," the Judge said.

And then there was screaming coming vividly, loudly, piercingly through the tannoy, followed by cheers from the crowd.

And for the three hidden in the tiny records room, it was unmistakably Martha's scream.

The Doctor ripped off his mask, and went weak against the wall, hand buried in his hair, when he heard this. "Oh God… oh God…" he groaned.

He was not having a heart attack, but rather suffering from heart _break_.

Panic appeared across Colin's features, and he began to spit, "No! No, no no! Noooo!"

"Both of you, calm down, or we'll never get her out of here!" Donna scolded.

" _I would imagine that you are in the complex somewhere, feeling your chest tightening and your breath growing short,"_ Rabic said. _"That's just lovely. We'll just let you listen to the torture…"_

And another searing scream came through the tannoy, again, definitely Martha.

The Doctor stood, bracing himself against the wall, teeth bared, panting, seething with anger.

"Don't listen," Donna said, taking his hand.

"I have to," he whispered. "She can't suffer alone."

The scream stopped, and the crowd cheered. The three of them looked at one another in total disgust.

" _How are you feeling Doctor? Feeling like you want to give yourself up, to save your…_ love?" asked Rabic. _"Or are you too weak to walk? Make no mistake, it will still be a while before you die of cardiac arrest. And Martha? We've regulated her heartrate so she can keep going indefinitely! Come on, are you really going to just let us have our way with her?"_

More screaming – shorter this time.

" _Doctor! Save her!"_

Curt, high screams this time.

" _DOCTOR! Stop being a coward!"_

At that, they could hear Martha yell, _"Doctor no! Don't come near! Security is too tight!"_

" _Shut up!"_ the Judge screamed, and they heard a hard, blunt _smack_ , and another high-pitched wince from Martha.

"That bastard," the Doctor hissed. "I'm going to have his fucking head on a platter."

And he made for the door, and began to tug at the doorknob, impetuously.

"Doctor, stop," Donna coaxed, pulling his hands away from the door, then pushing him by the shoulders into a stack of drawers. "We need a plan!"

"I can't… I can't think straight, Donna," the Doctor confessed, now hearing more screams and cheers coming through the tannoy. "It's everything I can do just to keep my body from betraying me, and running out into the crowd on a kamikaze rescue mission! I _know_ we'll both die horribly if I do that, and yet, it's all I want. It's all I can think of. It's all…"

" _Now, Doctor, I hope you're still alive,"_ the judge said. _"Sort of counterintuitive, I know, but if you die, you'll miss the best bit. In a few minutes, we will begin welcoming people who have purchased Partitive Passes. Stay tuned, as the humans sometimes say, my Time Lord friend."_

"What are Partitive Passes?" asked Colin.

The Doctor turned his back to the cabinet and leaned his bum against it, while bending forward to rest his hands on his knees. He felt harrowed, hollow, beaten, desperate…

"They're barbaric," he answered. "They sell them to spectators who want in on the action, if you will."

"So… they get to come up on the platform and…"

"Participate in the torture," the Doctor finished.

"What? That's ridiculous!" Donna cried out.

"Agreed," said the Doctor. "And yet, in places like this, where executions are public, governments are despotic, and people are in the resultant bloodthirsty, warped state of mind… here they are."

"So there are going to be common people just lining up to… what? Stab my cousin?" Colin asked, his face contorted into a guise of anger and fear.

"Stab, burn, bludgeon, slash, brand, beat…" the Doctor said, his voice breaking.

"Okay, I've heard enough," Donna said. "Let's get back out there."

"Like you said before, we need a plan," Colin pointed out.

"I've got one," she announced.

"You have?"

"Yes. Doctor, give me the psychic paper."

"I don't have it," he said. "It's in the TARDIS somewhere."

"Do you know where?"

"I think so."

"Okay, that works," she said. "The downside is, Martha will have to endure at least another half our of this rubbish before we can help her. Let's get to the TARDIS. All three of us. Now. Put your helmet back on, Spaceman."

"So now we're following _Donna's_ orders?" Colin asked her.

"Looks like. Ready?"

* * *

 **Donna playing the hero! Well, would you expect any less from her?**

 **A review would make my day... thank you for reading!**


	17. Meanwhile, On The Inside

**Poor, poor Martha. How long before Donna's plan gets her out of there?**

* * *

MEANWHILE, ON THE INSIDE

She tried to think rationally. She tried to remain calm. She tried to think of her captors and torturers as beings to be pitied for their all-consuming anger, immaturity, and ultimate victimhood under the thumb of centuries of totalitarian government. She tried dissociating as she'd read victims of abuse or assault often do. She tried pretending she was someone else, or watching the proceedings from above…

But none of it mattered.

She was too much in-the-moment. She was too angry, too frightened, too much in pain. She felt _everything_. And the fact that she was being watched by a bloodthirsty mob, and a thousand voices cheered for her suffering, just magnified it all.

Including the heartbreak. Where was he? What was he doing? The only thing she knew for sure was that he wasn't here. He hadn't been captured, so she hoped he was "recalibrating," and coming up with a plan to get them both out of here. He did like to cut it fine, and nothing in her time with him had ever given her reason to believe that he was _not_ doing those things right now, but it was so hard to have faith, under these circumstances. When another blast of heat from Judge Rabic's flamethrower seared her flesh, she gave another groan, and felt genuine despair.

 _What if this is how I'm going to die?_ _In pain, humiliated, and on display._

Two Partitive Pass holders had crossed the stage thus far, and one had not, in the end, had the strength to inflict much pain on her. The small, hooded figure had tried beating her with what looked like a cricket bat, but it ended up feeling less like torture, and more like it simply may or may not bruise. The second pass-holder had been more brutal, and had got up right next to her ear, and screamed, as loud as he could, _Death to the Doctor._ The being, whoever he was, had some type of supersonic vocal ability beyond her ken, and her ear was still ringing. She reckoned she might be able to feel fluid gathering.

 _Damn it, Doctor. Where are you?_

She knew that she had hollered for him to stay away because security was too tight, but she knew deep down that he was too clever to do anything as daft as to try and walk up into the staging to break her out. She knew him well, and hoped he'd pull one of his stunning rescues from out of left-field, where no-one saw it coming…

* * *

Donna, Colin and the Doctor had gone separately back to the TARDIS, with the Time Lord arriving first.

He was so relieved to see her, be back in her infinite spaces. With her, he felt cradled by his own consciousness, and hers…

But on the other hand, his hearts sank. She was still pretty dark, not up to one-hundred-per-cent capacity, which might make it tricky to escape Sercaton if they were being pursued.

Also, shamefully, he was just relieved to be inside, where he could no longer hear the taunts and torture coming over the tannoy. It was messing with his brain. Just in the moments when he really, _really_ needed to be on his game, he couldn't think straight… could not calm his thoughts long enough to work out the logistics of rescuing Martha. Judge Rabic's plan was working not the way he'd planned, but it was crippling the Doctor into inaction nonetheless. The ruthless leader had been planning to exploit their love, and he had succeeded.

He hoped that being back in the steadying presence of his TARDIS would help him centre himself, and shut out the din…

But then Donna and Colin came through the door, and she promptly ordered the Doctor out of his clothes.

"What?" he asked.

"You heard me. Off with that uniform, and hand it over. Colin's going to wear it now," she said.

She had outlined her plan back in the storage area, and the Doctor had decided to go along with… well, most of it.

He unzipped the rubber suit down the side, and began to try and manoeuvre out of it. "You can't make me stay in the TARDIS while you do the hero thing, Donna."

"You're right, I can't," she said. "But what better ideas have you got?"

"I don't have one yet…"

"I know," she told him. "That's why I'm going forward with what _I've_ got."

"How long before they get tired of messing about, and just kill her?" Colin asked.

"I have no idea," the Doctor said, stepping out of the rubber suit, and handing it to Martha's cousin.

"Again, this is why we have to move forward with a plan. _Any_ plan," she reminded them. "Where's the psychic paper?"

"Under the console somewhere, I think," the Doctor told her, now in just a pair of boxers. He walked away from them, Donna knew, temporarily. He stepped through the archway, and just around the corner, he found an emergency stash of clothing he liked to keep near the console room. He pulled on a pair of his brown pinstriped trousers, a light blue tee-shirt, and the matching suit coat. He gathered a pair of socks and white Converse in his hands, and shut the closet door.

Donna now stood on the platform holding the psychic paper while Colin struggled with the Sercatonian guards' uniform.

"Screwdriver?" she asked.

"Look around on the console a bit," he said. "Pretty sure I left it leaning between gears somewhere. What do you need it for?"

"Just insurance," she shrugged. "Doesn't it undo shackles and things like that?"

"Yes, but it's conspicuous."

"Better than nothing, eh?" she quipped. "Colin, hurry up and get that thing zipped, and let's go."

"Hang on, would you? This is made for someone – not even human – who is a right sight skinnier than I am, all right? I'm squeezing into like it's a sausage casing and it's not easy nor pleasant," he said, ending in a mutter.

"Donna, really," the Doctor pleaded. "I have to come with you."

"And do what?"

"Help!" he shouted. "Martha is out there, probably dying, and you're just going to make me sit here and wait, like a bloody doorstop?"

"No! Not sit here and wait! Coax the TARDIS awake," she said. "Because you may have recalibrated the planet so that she can exist here now without going into cardiac arrest, but she still isn't up to her full strength, and the only thing that we know for sure will make her move is a distress signal. And since all of us will be inside, I don't reckon we'll have that advantage!"

"Donna, I can't just…"

"We are parked literally _steps away_ from where you and she are set to be _executed_ , Doctor," she continued. "We will need to get out of here in a hurry. The TARDIS will need to be in top shape for you to fly her. You want to rescue Martha? I get that, but she's doomed if the TARDIS won't move, and you know it. Someone needs to tend to her, and it can't be me nor Colin. It _has_ to be you."

"Blimey," he groaned, pulling his hand down over his face, seeing, of course, that Donna was right.

"Not to mention, Doctor… I'm sorry, but if you come with us, you'll be a liability. They're looking for you. _For you._ "

"Fine," the Doctor agreed, looking harried, tears coming to his eyes. Earnestly, he instructed, "But you get her back, Donna. Don't take chances with her life. You wait for your moment. Be smart."

"Have you ever seen me being anything else, Spaceman?"

"I'm serious," he said, his voice breaking. "She's being tortured. I can't let… I can't…"

"I know," she said, taking his hand. "We won't let it continue longer than it has to, and we _will_ get her out."

"Don't forget, mate," Colin said, from inside the eerie-looking rubber helmet. "I want her back as badly as you do."

"Don't bet on it," the Doctor spat, before turning away from them, and toward the console. "Go. Go do something spectacular. I'll get the old girl ready to fly."

* * *

Donna and Colin stepped out into the arena and joined the crowd. They were watching someone attack her with an electrified prod, and she was giving uninspired screams at this point, her face looking as though she'd vacated her body.

"God, she doesn't look like she's got much fight left in her," Colin groaned inside his rubber helmet. "I'll burn this bloody place to the ground."

"Easy, now," she said. "No giving yourself away."

After a minute or so, another person appeared on the stage, and seemed to show a ticket to the Judge. It was someone tall and thin, looked female to Martha, and had grey skin with bluish hair. She picked up a knife... big enough to be almost a sword.

"Oh no, oh no, oh no," Donna muttered. It was the first outward expression of dread or panic she'd allowed herself since they'd found the Doctor and realised the direness of the situation.

"Now, be aware," Judge Rabic said to the tall woman. "Humans do not typically survive deep stab wounds, as most of their insides are riddled inefficiently with vital organs. We need to keep her going for a while longer."

The woman nodded, and then began to slash at Martha's jeans. At first, it was only the fabric being cut, but after only a minute or so, Martha leaned her head back, shut her eyes tight, in a visible attempt to try and shut out the pain. And then, blood began to appear.

"All right, I'm not standing here watching any longer. I've got to move," Colin said. "Someday, this story might get told, and I don't want to have to tell her father that I watched her get cut up by some psychotic, knife-wielding alien, with a grudge against the Doctor."

"Have you got your mobile phone on?" Donna asked.

"Yeah."

"Good. See you on the other side."

* * *

The Doctor stood alone in his TARDIS, hands on the console, eyes shut, delving mentally into the soft, welcoming reaches of his vessel's consciousness.

"Come forward," he coaxed her. "I'm here. You have me. Draw strength from me, as I draw from you. Sercaton has not won – the atmosphere has been recalibrated to accommodate you, and no-one has yet become the wiser."

He felt her awaken slightly, and the lights came on.

He knew that she could feel him, and that she would have relaxed a bit just from having him within again. But she was still ailing.

"I'm just standing here," he told her. "Not running, not escaping, not thinking. Not about anything other than your safety. Pull from me – please. Take my strength, and use it. I'm in stasis, reserving myself. Donna is saving Martha – everyone is okay. Just concentrate on you. Be well. Be well…"

A sound came from the TARDIS' heart, and it reminded the Doctor of when a laser-jet printer powers up. It was a high-pitched ramping-up, a lively, reassuring, noise of machinery that works.

"Good girl," he said to her psychically. And he stayed in deep meditation. Because the TARDIS would need him to stay solid for a while, and…

…something was occurring to him. He couldn't just walk out there and save Martha, working TARDIS or no. And it was still bothering him that his original plan to keep her safe hadn't worked. Donna was going to do all the heroics today; _he_ hadn't been effectual in the least. Sure he'd been clever enough to recalibrate the planet's heartrate regulation, but as far as Martha's well-being, all he'd done was sneak her out of the cell and get her captured and tortured. The rhythmic meditation in which he'd engulfed her had been broken by an injection to the arm, a little jolt of pain. That's it – that was all it had taken.

 _A little pain._

 _Pain._

 _Martha's in pain. Big pain, now._

Her screams still echoed in his mind, and even though he knew that any rescue attempt would basically be a kamikaze suicide mission, he still itched to help her. He had no idea how long it would take for Donna and Colin to get to her…

Meditation as a way of keeping Martha safe had been a flimsy plan, but the connection it had established between them had been anything but flimsy. The rhythm, the dance… it might not have been enough to save her from capture, or from a heart attack, but it was enough to solidify the two of them as… what? Companions? A couple? As psychically linked? As profoundly connected? All of the above?

 _Yes. All of these things._

It had been enough for the two of them to see the potential, their relationship, their feelings for each other, their connection, as a _tool._

He could make what had been flimsy much more solid. He could bring in the TARDIS. He could reach her _while_ she was being hurt, so she could not be jolted.

What if he could take her out of the pain?

* * *

"Now, be aware," Judge Rabic said to the tall woman, holding a sword. "Humans do not typically survive deep stab wounds, as most of their insides are riddled inefficiently with vital organs. We need to keep her going for a while longer."

Martha groaned inwardly. She was determined to show no more external signs of pain or fear. It was giving the crowd too much satisfaction, and it was being used as a weapon against the Doctor. If it wasn't killing him, it was likely spurring him into doing something completely bonkers…

But this was the first Partitive Pass holder who had come at her with... what was that, _a sword?_ At least Rabic was warning her not to run Martha through with it… just yet. Though, part of her wished someone would, just so this rubbish could end.

The sword slashed Martha's jeans, cutting the fabric to ribbons first…

Then, Martha felt something knocking at the corners of her mind.

"Pull into yourself," a voice said.

A familiar voice. Her favourite voice in the universe.

 _There you are,_ she mused.

She closed her eyes and put her head back, just as she felt the sword penetrate her skin. She reckoned her thighs would be bleeding a bit now.

"I tried that," she told him, internally. "It didn't work."

"I'm here now," the Doctor's voice lulled. "Me and the TARDIS… she'll keep us safe. Dance with me, Martha."

And she gave herself over to him, as she always had. Suddenly, they were back inside one another, this time in the arena where she was being tortured, but the place was empty. The floor was polished parquet, and the balconies were decorated with flowers. The Doctor was wearing a blue suit – her favourite – and he held her close. And they danced.

This time, the rhythm wasn't important… just being with him was what mattered. Being together. Feeling him touch her, seeing his eyes, hearing his voice, his reassurances. It all detached her from what was happening.

"She's slicing up my skin," she said calmly, allowing herself to get lost in his eyes. "Why is it not snapping me out of this?"

"It's not any worse than what you've been through thus far, is it?"

"No," she said. "I'll admit, the flame-thrower is the worst."

"Is your skin blistering?"

"Yes."

"Martha, I'm so sorry."

"I know," she said. "And it's not your fault. You did your best with the resources we had, and you did what you had to do."

"I can't believe it's come to this."

"You mean, to the moment where being attacked with a sword is no longer painful enough to jolt me out of a meditation?" she said with a smile.

"Yes," he whispered.

"We've got to take our small victories where we can get them, I suppose," she told him, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I'm so glad you're here. I wasn't sure how I was going to continue to cope without you."

They danced for a bit, and Martha could feel blood dripping down her thighs, but she did not feel the brunt of the pain. She simply leaned into him, and let his presence take her away.

After a few minutes, she said, "Another Partitive Pass holder is here. He's got needle-y fingers."

"Ah, the planet Yurepeak. If ever there was a group of imbeciles with no right to have a grudge against the Time Lords, it's them… and yet, they think we ruined their planet. I'm sorry you're having to pay for it now."

"Rabic just warned him to stay away from my jugular," she sighed.

"What a Prince, that Rabic."

"I know… needles in my shoulders and torso now… slow and disgusting," she told him.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "We'll bandage you up later."

"I'll have scars."

"Yes, you will. But that's why I'm here."

"I won't have perfect skin anymore," she said, with a sheepish smile.

"Your skin is just wrapping. I'm trying to save your soul."

* * *

"Sir," said a rubber-clad, Sercatonian officer into his helmet's communications device. "I've searched the perimeter of the arena twice. No luck. The Doctor is not here."

"Very well," said his superior officer. "He's just nowhere, it seems."

"The coward's probably crawled off somewhere to die."

"Probably. Come back to the control room, and we will regroup, what few of us there are."

"Understood. See you in a few minutes," said the officer. He reached up to turn off the comm screen inside his goggles, and turned subtly as he did so, so as to walk back up the hill toward the public entrance of the arena.

As he did, his elbow bumped into something.

"Ow," he said, under his breath, then took a few steps back to see what random detritus had been left here since he'd last inspected the area.

It was an eight-foot-tall blue box, that said "Police" across the top.

"Sir?" said the officer, engaging his comm system again. "Can you send out that image of the Doctor's time vehicle again?"

"Why?"

"Because I think I've located it."

"It's coming…" said the superior officer, just before an image of the TARDIS appeared in the officer's field of vision.

"Yes, yes," said the junior. "This is it. The Doctor's TARDIS is not far from the public entrance to the arena."

"Give us coordinates."

The junior officer obeyed. Then he asked, "How will we move it to the stage to face its execution?"

"Our current orders are to use a communications system to pipe in live images of it into the arena for the crowd," said the superior officer. "And to destroy it with axes. I will send a camera crew, and a wrecking crew. You've done well. Stand by."

* * *

 **A weird chapter, but I hope an impactful one! Leave a review, let me know. :-) Thank you for reading!**


	18. The Death of Martha Jones

THE DEATH OF MARTHA JONES

There was a staircase to the side of the stage area, and a simple archway at the top that led somewhere dark. It was an entrance to something _behind_ where Martha was currently being held, tortured, and driven toward death. Colin decided not to think too hard about it – he was just going to walk through the arch, even though he knew it wouldn't work, and that wasn't particularly his objective anyhow.

"Oi," said the guard, reaching a hand out, stopping Colin short of the top step. "Name?"

"Name? Why?" Colin retorted. "I'm an official of this outfit just like you are. Let me pass."

"Can't do it," said the guard. "I have a roster, and I'm under strict orders to stick with it. If you want to get onto the platform at all, you'll have to state your name and purpose."

"My name happens to be Lin-co Hill-brown," Martha's cousin vamped. He was an extremely clever architect, but not experienced with the sort of skulking-about that would allow him to get past this guard. Fortunately, this particular time, he didn't need to be.

To Colin's surprise, the guard pressed a button on his goggles, saying he would check the roster, and he seemed to wait a moment, then said, "Sorry. You're not on it. You've got to go back the way you came."

"There must be some mistake," Colin said. "My name not being on the roster must be an oversight. I'm under orders to be near the prisoner when she expires."

"For what purpose?"

"To remove her."

"Captain Reakand will be in charge of that, according to the roster," said the guard. "What're you playing at?"

"Captain Reakand is ill," said Colin. "I'm to take his place. Good grief, man, are you even employed here?"

He was rather proud of this particular quick-thinking/grandstanding he'd done. He thought it was very "Doctor" of him.

"Captain Reakand is fit as a fiddle," said the guard. "I saw him five minutes ago!"

"I've been sent also to check on the roster for the Partitive Pass holders."

"There is no such roster, genius. I don't know what you think you're doing, but if I were you, I'd get gone before I call Captain Reakand himself and tell him there's a subordinate trying to get near official business, and also not following protocol. Go!"

Colin turned and walked back down the steps with as much dignity as he could. But his first concern was not his pride (or, the pride of whoever it was who normally wore this uniform), but rather, getting a bit of privacy.

He managed to find a small space between the arena wall and a bush where he could pull off his rubber helmet just for a few moments.

* * *

 _She can't suffer alone,_ the Doctor had said.

It was what was keeping Donna standing there amongst the crowd, watching, rather than averting her eyes.

Although, Martha seemed to have found some sort of equilibrium, some sort of coping mechanism that was causing her _not_ to scream, nor show any outward signs of distress. A man with needles for fingers had just finished puncturing the skin of Martha's upper torso, and was now walking away looking a bit defeated because he hadn't succeeded in making Martha visibly miserable. Donna wondered if she'd finally been broken. The pain had grown so great, she'd lost her will to live or to feel, and was just waiting to die…

That didn't sound anything like the feisty Martha Jones she knew, but she reckoned the Martha she knew had never actually been tortured before. There had been threats, but no actual laying-on of hands, or sharp instruments or…

In any case, the crowd was growing irritated that she wasn't screaming or squirming anymore. They had never actually managed to get her to beg for it to stop, but they all seemed more or less content with the initial sounds of her abject fear and pain.

Now that she was silent, people in the crowd were saying things like, "Come on! Give us a shriek!" "Show some feeling – what's the matter with you?" "Give us what we came for, you filthy Time Lord accomplice!" "Make her scream, Judge! Do your worst until she can't take it!"

The whole tableau made Donna want to gag. But she didn't feel it would be right to hide from it all. And so, she watched, and waited… just a minute or two, though, and then her phone rang at her hip.

"Yeah?" she said, tearing the thing open anxiously.

"There's a roster for personnel allowed to be near the execution, but not for the Partitive Pass holders. Your way is clear."

"Okay," Donna said. "But looks like yours is a bit harder."

"Yes, but I did find out the name of the officer who's supposed to remove Martha's body," he said. "I can't believe I just said that so calmly."

"Good – you can use that. Don't stop trying."

"I'll get in," he promised.

"Just be careful."

"And you," he said, and with that, the line was cut. Donna shoved her phone back in her hip pocket, and extracted the psychic paper from the front pocket of her black hoodie. It was one of three things she'd been storing in there. One of the other items was a sonic screwdriver for emergencies, and the other item was in a flat packet, the key to getting Martha taken down off the wheel.

When she and Colin had first exited the TARDIS less than an hour ago, they had seen ticket-holders going down to a special area just below the front of the stage. She now knew what this was about, and disgusting as it was, it was going to save Martha's life.

Donna made her way through the crowd, and approached the guard standing watch at the special door for ticket-holders.

"Hello," he said. "Have you got a Partitive Pass?"

"Yes, I have," Donna said, and she showed him the psychic paper.

"Good luck up there," he scoffed. "The bitch isn't even making noise anymore. Stupid cow… too daft even to know she's in pain."

"Don't worry," Donna said, forcing down the rage she felt at this man's comments. "I'll get something out of her."

"Yeah," he shrugged. He gestured to an area under the stage and said, "Wait there. Someone will be along to take you up onto the platform. That is, if she doesn't die before then."

"Let's hope eh?"

"Hey, maybe the Judge will let you deal the final blow!" the man said, and then he laughed, and turned back to his post, facing the bloodthirsty spectators.

Donna's temper flared, but she took a deep breath and held it in check, waiting for an unknowing rubber-clad guard to appear, and give her access to her friend.

As far as she could tell, the man with the needle fingers was the last Partitive Pass holder to have a go at Martha. Now, it was just the so-called Judge on the platform, attacking her again with a flame-thrower to the abdomen (seemed to be his weapon of choice), and trying to get a rise out of her.

"Her skin is blistering!" he announced to the crowd. "The fragile human has skin bubbling against the heat!"

The crowd was pleased by this, but the cheers were nowhere near as loud as when Martha herself made the sounds of agony.

Donna could hear the flame-thrower, and could see it somewhat through the slats of the stage. He heard the Judge scream at her, "React! Show your pain, you filthy fornicator! Colluder with Time Lords! You lowlife, worm of a human!"

Martha gave no reaction, and the Judge gave a cry of despair.

Someone appeared through a door and led Donna to a short staircase that went up onto the stage.

"Have at her," he said.

Donna walked forward and made eye-contact with the Judge.

Something in the uniforms of the guards of this planet… it was eerie. The inability to see their eyes, the large goggles, the blackness, the uniformity, the sharpness of the mouth. It was almost like the officials here walked around in wetsuits with sleek, black, inscrutable Death's Heads. Even when the Doctor and Colin were wearing the ensemble, two men whom she knew relatively well, it had been difficult to take, and a bit frightening.

And something in the way that this Judge gazed at her…

 _He knows. He knows I'm her friend, that I'm here to rescue her. He knows I'm with the Doctor. He knows…_

"Hello, madam," he said.

"Hello," she said back.

"I regret to say, our prisoner is not being cooperative," the Judge said. "And her Time Lord companion is insisting on taking the spineless approach. He has not appeared, so as not to allow her to endure her slow death alone, and we are of the belief that he himself must be dead by now."

"Well…" Donna said, uneasily. "That's good riddance, eh?"

The crowd laughed, and a few cheered. This was a popular opinion amongst this audience. Donna relaxed a little, for now satisfied that the Judge thought her to be just another holder of a Partitive Pass, another life form with a grudge, who wanted to stick it to the Doctor by inflicting pain on his most adored companion.

"You are fortunate to be here for the grand finale," said the Judge. "If you wish to go down in history as the individual to have ended the life of Martha Jones, the Doctor's accomplice, guilty of numerous crimes, _on behalf of the great Congress of Sercaton_ … so be it. If you do not wish, then by all means, prolong the agony, and I shall deal the death blow when you are finished."

As he said this, he touched one of the sledgehammers on the table nearby.

Donna's stomach hit the floor, and any relaxation or confidence she'd gained now left her. Either she had to make this look really, really good, and get Martha on board with it, or her friend would be murdered as soon as Donna was done with her.

 _No pressure._

"I'll finish her off," Donna said. "I've got what it takes."

She positioned herself in front of Martha. To her surprise, Martha no longer seemed catatonic; apparently she'd heard Donna's voice, and was now paying attention.

Donna affected a tone of mockery and judgement. "The Doctor, were he alive, he'd know you're here, suffering," she said. "And he'd know I'm here! And what I am about to do to you!"

She desperately hoped that Martha was interpreting this as, _he knows of the plan and has agreed to it._

The crowd laughed, presumably at the cowardice of the Time Lord, who was not there to die alongside his "love."

She continued in the sarcastic, mocking tone. "Oh, don't worry, love. If he _could_ be here, he _would_ be, but what with all of the surrounding danger, you know, he just decided to leave you to the fates. And I'm sure if he were here, he would say how much he dearly _loves_ you."

Again the crowd laughed, though some of them booed, and/or made sounds of disgust.

"The Judge here has given me leave to kill you," Donna said. "How lucky I feel to have come at the right time!"

Very, very subtly, she saw Martha blink in recognition, and nod imperceptibly. She, too, was grateful that Donna had come when she had.

"I'm going to drown you," she said, still pretending to taunt Martha. "That is, if you'll agree to die. The last twenty minutes or so, it seems you've been too stupid even to know you're in pain – will you even find enough sense to die when you should?"

"I'll die," Martha whimpered. "I want to die. Please."

The crowd loved this, but Donna knew what it was: Martha's tacit agreement to whatever it was they had planned for her. She was showing an enormous amount of trust in Donna, but ultimately, of course, in the Doctor.

"If you're still alive, Doctor," the Judge said, his voice booming over the tannoy. "I hope you heard that. Your beloved is begging for death, and you've done nothing but hide from the situation! You coward! At the very least, I thought you were a man with his own twisted sense of honour. Apparently I was wrong. Martha Jones is about to drown, and you're… where?"

* * *

"Donna's here," Martha said to the Doctor, as they danced.

"Pay attention," he said. "If they're annoyed that you're not responding to any of the tortures anymore, at least this will get the crowd riled again, and give Donna something to work with."

Martha put her attention on the exterior for a few minutes, and danced with the Doctor…

"She says she's going to drown me," Martha said.

"She's going to give you a beta blocker," he said.

"What?" she asked, almost panicked. Almost. "But I've already got some sort of drug in me, keeping my heartrate down… and didn't you recalibrate the maximum heartrate for the planet anyway?"

"Yes," he said. "It will be dangerous. With the combination of drugs, your heartrate and blood pressure will drop to almost nothing. Your heart might stop. But if they can get you out of there in a hurry, I can fix you. I need you to be with me physically in order to do it, though. I can't save you from the inside like this… I wish I could."

"Okay," she said.

"Okay?" he asked. "You're willing to risk it?"

"It's all we've got," she said. "If Donna doesn't convince these people she's killed me, then the Judge will break all my bones with the sledgehammer, finishing with my skull."

"I'll stay with you as long as I can," he said. "But your consciousness will be flimsy. You might…"

"… die for a while?"

"I'm sorry."

"It's all right. I trust you."

On the outside, to Donna, she said, "I'll die. I want to die. Please."

* * *

Officers came to the stage with barrels of water. One of the officers, Donna noticed, was a bit shorter, a bit broader than the others. He stopped momentarily and stared at Martha, just long enough that Donna noticed, and then he clenched his fists, looked at Donna, and turned away.

 _Colin's found a way in!_

"Are you ready for the death of Martha Jones, abettor and co-conspirator against Sercaton along with the Doctor, the Last of the Time Lords, destroyer of worlds, and monumental coward?" cried the Judge.

The crowd yelled with delight.

Donna used this moment to prepare the pill inside her pocket.

She rounded on Martha, and grabbed her jaw roughly. "Get ready, girlie!" she hissed. "This isn't going to be pleasant!"

As she did this, she clandestinely put the pill in Martha's mouth, and then accepted two tumblers from one of the guards, as another one put a large barrel of water in front of her.

She dipped the tumblers into the water, one after another, and began relentlessly pouring water over Martha's face… down her throat into her nose. She tried to give her a second or two to breathe, and/or to pour it in a spot where it might _seem_ like she was obstructing Martha's air, but was not… and the crowd went wild. They chanted for Martha's death. They egged on the "torturer" Donna, and spat horrible slurs at the prisoner.

For a bit, Martha choked, coughed, gurgled… some of it was fake, some of it real. But after a minute or two, her face grew pale, and she seemed to lose consciousness.

Donna reckoned the blocker had taken effect. It was terrifying, watching all of the colour drain from her friend's face, and watching Martha effectively die…

 _Would she have been better off drowning?_

 _No. With the blocker, she can remain very slightly clinging to life, and appear dead to anyone who examines here rudimentarily, without equipment..._

 _This is the way it has to be. Keep your mettle, Donna. Pretend you're happy she's dead! Do it!_

Donna continually reassured herself that she'd done the only thing she could, and that Martha had accepted the risk, that the Doctor had agreed to it…

Yet the fact that her friend was now deathly pale with virtually no heartbeat, hanging on a breaking wheel because of a drug _she_ had forced down her throat, it was all Donna could do not to be sick right there.

* * *

The crowd clapped and chanted and cheered while Martha's limp form was taken down off the wheel. The Judge stood by smugly and watched as two guards untied her, and one took her in his arms, cradling her like a baby, and walked offstage with her.

The only consolation Donna felt was knowing that the "guard" who now had her, was her cousin, and de-facto big brother.

 _Now, to get out of here, and back to the TARDIS in a hurry so she doesn't actually die._

She allowed the Judge to hold up her hand while the crowd cheered her, then she shook his hand reluctantly, and walked offstage, trying to find Colin.

"We have another treat for you," the Judge said to the crowd. "The Doctor's TARDIS has been located, and we will broadcast its execution for you, as well – right here in the arena! Don't go anywhere – the spectacle is not over!"

* * *

 **Indeed, the spectacle is not quite over - I have three more chapters for you!**

 **Don't be so annihilated by this chapter that you forget to leave a review ;-)… I need to hear from you! It will make my week!**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	19. That's Just Cheating

**Well, on the up-side, the torture is over. On the down-side, they've still got to escape with Martha's life!**

 **So, I don't know how you will feel about this chapter... hopefully the Doctor's explanation for his actions seems airtight enough. For me, it feels right, even if it is a bit of a "cheat."**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

THAT'S JUST CHEATING

It was not difficult to find Colin. He was standing nearby, just offstage, still cradling Martha. For Donna, this was quite an emotional sight, even though she couldn't see Colin's face or anything else that identified him as human.

Another official was examining Martha with some semi-familiar-looking medical equipment.

"She's dead," the official said, and he looked at Donna. "Well done, madam."

Donna heard a very subtle hitching of Colin's breathing through his helmet.

She resisted the urge to comfort him, or reassure him that she was likely just _very very_ close to death. Though, she wasn't sure how reassuring this would be…

"I'll escort you to the pyre, Captain Reakand," said the medical officer.

"The pyre, right," Colin said, standing still, trying to buy time.

 _Damn it,_ Donna thought. _Didn't see this coming._

"Yes, the pyre," the medical officer said. "Where they will burn her body. Remember? Procedure?"

"Right, yes," Colin said. "But, I was thinking… seeing as how the crowd came here expecting to see the Doctor killed, and they were disappointed by that, and now the TARDIS can't even be moved to the stage – this lot is going to have to watch it on screens… nah, never mind."

"No, no, say what you're thinking, Captain."

"I was just wondering, considering all of that, why are they not making the burning of this body a part of the spectacle? Wouldn't that go even further in pleasing the crowd, and vindicating the planet Sercaton as the destroyers of the Doctor's companion?"

 _Nice,_ she thought. _Good and morbid, Colin. There's hope for you at this trouble-shooting, skulking-about rubbish that we do._

"Hm," the medical officer said. "That's an excellent question. Do you mind if I ask Judge Rabic about it myself?"

"By all means," Colin said. "I think it would be a wonderful spectacle, if we could work out the logistics…"

"Indeed. I'll be right back."

With that, the medical officer disappeared out onto the stage, where Judge Rabic was still attempting to hold court with the spectators.

"Go!" Donna said, and she and Colin began to dash, with Martha's mostly lifeless body, toward a staircase they hadn't used before. They knew that it was neither of the staircases that led down the sides of the stage, nor underneath it…

They still didn't know where it would lead when they reached the practically pitch-dark bottom of the stairs. Though, they could still see that there was a door in front of them. Encouragingly, it was fairly obvious that the door led outside.

Donna tried to open it. It was locked.

Colin tried hard to kick it open a few times, to no avail. He turned his back on it, and used his entire bulk to try and budge it.

"I can't do that again without risking bashing Martha's head against something," he said, his voice practically breaking.

"Hang on," Donna said. "I don't know what setting to use, but it's worth a shot."

She pulled the sonic screwdriver from her hoodie pocket, and tried the door.

No luck.

She adjusted the head slightly, and tried again.

Still no luck.

"Donna, we don't have all the time in the world!"

"What?" she shrieked. "It's better than kicking it!"

She adjusted the sonic a few more times, trying it each time…

At last the door clicked open.

"Thank heaven!" Colin cried out.

And they ran.

* * *

The TARDIS was at full-strength, but now Martha was near death. A day or two ago, it was Donna.

Could he never just have _all_ of his allies functioning at once?

And he realised, not for the first time, that he could not think rationally when Martha was in danger. The TARDIS was one thing – she was old, she had her own reserves, they'd been together for eight centuries, he was used to having her in peril, and they always found each other again.

But Martha was a different story. She was clever and resourceful, but human. Soft. Vulnerable. And their relationship was new. She touched a nerve much closer to the surface, something more fiery and somewhat adolescent in him. His body, as well as his mind.

He hadn't been able to effectively problem-solve weeks ago, when she was being threatened with rape and branding unless he helped imprison the human race, and he hadn't been able to come up with a plan today, as long as he had to hear her screaming...

Thank goodness for Donna. She had known this weakness of his, practically anticipated it, and she had worked out what to do. He could not, at this moment, imagine what the current situation would be like if the TARDIS had not brought Donna and Colin to Sercaton. Would he and Martha both be on the gallows? Both of them dead by now?

So, thank goodness for all of them, really.

He felt horrible going into retreat, and not coming in with guns blazing to save the woman he loves. But he could do things that no-one else could, and _that_ was for the greater good. And so, here he paced, in the TARDIS, having done all that he could for now, waiting… waiting!

He was waiting for someone to deliver into his arms the limp body of Martha Jones, whose death he had sanctioned risking, in order to save them all.

He cursed, and kicked the base of the console in anger.

Once again, the Doctor considered Colin's suggestion of "settling down" for a bit. Mortgage, job, family? Christmas, public transport, tax… everyone safe for a time?

It all sounded mightily inviting, given what was going on outside the door.

And it wasn't just about Martha, necessarily. When her side of the meditative reverie had effectively died, the Doctor had been thrown, despondent, back into reality where, to his horror, there were two crews outside the TARDIS. One seemed to be something like a camera crew, apparently set to record the TARDIS' destruction, and another was a group meant, he assumed, to destroy it.

Two slats now adorned the TARDIS' main doors, and daylight spilled through copiously. These were the result of two hatchet strikes from the wrecking crew, before the Doctor had used the "hard shell" to throw them off. This action amounted to a hard punch to the face for anyone standing nearby, so when he'd looked outside, he'd seen the hatchet-men, lying on the ground being treated for facial trauma, unprotected by the silly rubber helmets the officers wore.

This "hard shell" function tired the TARDIS out, so he had been very reluctant to use it, given that she had only just recovered from her first foray onto Sercaton. Not to mention, Colin and Donna would have a hard time getting in with the shell activated.

Fortunately, he'd been able to undo the shell after a couple of minutes, without the crews outside knowing. They now believed that some kind of forcefield either surrounded the TARDIS, or that they would be violently rebuked if they came near… and they weren't necessarily wrong. But it was just a matter of time before they realised the forcefield wasn't currently up, and they could rush it any time they wanted.

He heard a sudden commotion outside, and the TARDIS groaned. The Doctor cracked the door, and saw a Sercatonian officer, shorter than the average, running toward the TARDIS, carrying the body of a woman. Another woman ran along with him, blazing ginger hair, piercing voice…

… it was them.

"What're you doing? Why do you have her body? Where are you going?" were only a few of the questions amid the din that rose up as Colin ploughed through the gathering crowd.

"I've been instructed to move her to an undisclosed location, until the spectacle pyre can be made upon the stage, now move out of my way!" Colin responded through his rubber helmet.

As he approached the TARDIS, warnings of, "Don't get too close to the blue box – there's a forcefield around it. It will throw you off like you're a dead leaf!"

But as soon as Colin and Donna crossed the threshold of where the other officers _thought_ there was a forcefield protecting the TARDIS, the commotion grew much bigger, and all of the officers began to charge.

With a frustrated cry, the Doctor ran up the ramp, and then used a rarely-used console function to throw open the door, then he stepped out of the way so no-one could see him from the outside. They couldn't know he wasn't dead somewhere in the complex.

"Come on! Come on! Come on!" he shouted.

He poised his hand over the yellow button that would activate the hard shell once more.

"Faster! Don't let them touch her! Come on!" he shouted.

He could hear Colin and Donna's voices, still trying to lull the crowd, still trying to convince the officers chasing them that all of this was part of the process, sanctioned by Judge Rabic, etc. He had no idea whether they could hear him or not.

Donna tripped through the threshold first, though Colin had to slow down and turn sideways so that he didn't bang Martha's head or feet against the doorjamb.

The Doctor's hand came down satisfyingly hard on the yellow button, and the entire crowd of people, currently closing in on the TARDIS were thrown back a hundred feet with a big _whoosh,_ and grunts of disbelief, and pain.

"Lock the door!" he shouted, and Donna did so.

Colin walked up the ramp and began to desposit Martha on the floor, but the Doctor, amid the sounds of the TARDIS grinding away from this location, told him, "No, not here – the infirmary. Donna, you keep watch here…"

He guided her hand to the right spot on the console, and explained briefly how to make sure they were safely away from Sercaton.

Then he ran down the hall, desperate to see the whites of Martha's eyes again.

* * *

Her stomach needed to be pumped, her heartbeat needed stimulating, and her blood pressure needed careful monitoring.

On two occasions, she needed extra measures to stop her violently rejecting the alien medication she'd been dosed with, that regulated her heartrate, but had never been meant for humans. And because of said alien injection, her liver was damaged, so all nourishment and medications that now went into her body needed to be carefully chosen, and timed.

And that was just for the two types of heartrate-regulating chemicals she'd been given, the things that had put her near death, but had facilitated her escape.

There were still both deep and shallow cuts to treat, all over her body. She was badly burned in over most of her abdomen, and part of her chest. She was bruised just about everywhere. Her lungs were damaged and had small amounts of fluid in them (despite Donna's best efforts), and a body scan revealed inner-ear damage that could possibly affect her ability to do… anything, really. She had lost blood. She had a broken scapula and collarbone…

Over the course of three days, Colin and Donna assisted as much as they could, but it was the Doctor who sat nearby, twenty-four hours a day, working and waiting. His companions tried _once_ to convince him to leave her side and get some sleep, but it was in vain. They didn't try again. They simply brought him meals when it was time, and stood nearby on the rare occasions when he nodded off…just in case.

Martha would wake for short periods, but her mental state was such that she still needed to retreat from pain. Either that, or the pain medication kept her loopy. She was disoriented and was not really able to make eye-contact with anyone, nor understand where she was or what was happening to her.

On the third night, sometime in the wee hours of the morning, Donna wandered in, unable to sleep.

"How are things in here?" she asked.

"Same," he said, his voice scratchy from disuse.

The Doctor had been uncharacteristically uncommunicative during Martha's "down" time; he simply had no desire to speak to anyone, except for when one of them asked about Martha's state, when he needed assistance with her, or to thank them for bringing him soup.

"How are _you_?" she wondered.

"Same," he repeated.

"So… despondent, depressed, grief-stricken…"

"Yeah."

"Blaming yourself?"

"Yeah."

"She's going to be okay, Doctor. You said she's out of the woods."

"She is," he said, injecting her IV with something, and adjusting an alarm.

Then he tossed the syringe into a bin, and sat down in the chair beside Martha. He took her hand, pressed his forehead to it, and rested his entire upper body against the bed. Donna pulled up a chair and sat beside, him, stroking his back. After a time, she, in turn, leaned her head against him. She reckoned he really needed a friend.

"Donna, she never asked for any of this," he muttered. She could hear the barely-contained sobs.

"I beg to differ, Doctor," she said. "She knew that life with you could be dark, painful… we all knew, and yet, here we are. Even Colin. Even with everything that's happened, he's still not talking about going home."

"None of you ask for torture. Martha didn't ask to have her legs slashed open. She didn't ask for her torso to be blistered with burns. She didn't ask for broken bones and bruises…" he retorted, now losing his composure. He wept. And through tears, he said, "And it was all for me. All because they wanted _me._ "

"You're right, she didn't specifically ask for torture, or any of it," Donna agreed. "But she _did_ ask to be with you. She _did_ take on the very daunting, dangerous task of being your companion… and not just that. She's your lover, your partner your… girlfriend? Blimey, that sounds wrong for someone like you, but whatever. She bothered to fall in love with you, and cultivate something _real_ with you, and she knew what she was getting into. And if she were awake, she would tell you the same thing."

There was a long silence, and the Doctor said, "They strapped her down and burned and beat and cut her."

"And you were able to penetrate her mind, and take away some of her pain," Donna reminded him. "Who else could have done that? Doesn't that count for something? Can't you give yourself _a little_ bit of a break? I mean, you get us into stuff, but you always get us out."

"Maybe."

"Look, there's no question that Judge Rabic needs to pay for what he's done, but there is _no_ reason for _you_ to beat yourself up over this. She and I have both been through the wringer for you, and we'd both do it again. Guaranteed."

"Still," he said, quite suddenly standing up. He sniffed, and pulled his hand down over his face, eliminating any trace of tears, though his eyes were still red. "She's an innocent in this. And I've spent the last day or so nursing a revelation: it was the Time Lords who pissed off the Sercatonians, not even me. And _certainly_ not her."

His intense mannerism was growing a bit scary, and Donna wasn't sure what was coming next. He was pacing, and he had that look in his eye that said he'd had a terrifying, daft idea.

"Doctor, what sort of bee have you got in your bonnet?" Donna asked, standing up along with him. "Don't do something you're going to regret."

"I'm going to cheat."

"You're going to what?"

"Anything natural or normal I could do with _human_ medicine for her _human_ body, any way you look at it, she's going to have scars. Scars, pain, bandages, disfigurements forever, that she doesn't deserve."

"So, how do you _cheat?_ "

"The Time Lords got her into this, they can bloody well get her out."

He walked over to a cabinet and extracted something. Donna gasped. "Doctor, what do you need with a scalpel?"

He did not answer. At this stage, he was barely aware of Donna's presence.

He went to the sink. He used the scalpel to make a three-inch slash across his hand. Donna winced, and blood dropped into the metal sink with a _ping, ping_ sound.

And that was when his hand began to glow.

"What the hell is that?" she asked.

"It's regenerative energy," he said, maniacally, studying the gold light surrounding his wound. "It's what keeps me from dying. If I'm near death, this stuff will regenerate my entire anatomy. If I'm wounded, it will just regenerate a few cells…"

"Always?"

"If I internalise the pain, the wound… if ask it to, in a manner of speaking."

"Because I've seen you wounded before."

"Normally, it's not worth it for little cuts and scrapes. This time, it's worth it. I'm holding the energy consciously at the wound…"

"Doctor, you can't use that on Martha."

"I don't know if it will work on a human, but it's worth a try."

"No, I mean, because it's wrong. Isn't it?"

"Probably," he said, walking across the room, cupping the blood in his hand, carrying the regenerative glow to Martha. "The Time Lords would definitely say so."

"See?"

"They would say that they're privileged to have this energy, it's part of our legacy, our heritage," he said. "It's what makes us _us_. It's what evolution has gifted us with, for having superior intellect and perspective, and to allow a human access to it would damage that heritage. Cheapen it."

"And you would say?"

"Rubbish," he told her. "I would say, these are the pompous arses who tried to hold the Earth hostage in seventy-year time loop to punish them for their technological advances. They tried to police Sercaton, and look where it got us! They put me on trial for myriad things, colluded against me with the Master on more than one occasion, failed me out of the academy on a technicality, and countless other things that we don't have time for."

"Are you sure about this, Doctor?" Donna asked, watching him uncover Martha's blanket-clad body, then expose her stomach and thighs, riddled with bandages, covering terrible burns and cuts.

"I reckon the Time Lords owe her one."

* * *

 **So it was a questionable decision. Yes? No? Maybe? On the Doctor's part, perhaps...**

 **Well, for one thing, I didn't think it would be sporting for me to end _another_ story that way (the previous story saw Donna in long recovery), and for another, this little "cheat" has one more sort of handy application. **

**In any case, let me know what you think! Feedback is ALWAYS the best gift you can give a writer! Thank you for reading. :-)**


	20. The Revels

**Second-to-last chapter, everyone!**

 **Martha's trials are over, thanks to a bit of a "cheat" (which most of you didn't seem to think of as a cheat!) on the Doctor's part. But one little matter still remains un-seen-to...**

* * *

THE REVELS

By that evening, Martha was awake, and lucid. And it was looking as though she'd be able to _stay_ awake this time. The pain was virtually gone – no more retreat from the horror, no more pain meds to render her insensible. The Doctor had helped her out of bed, and steadied her as she walked around a bit. He told her he'd like her to remain in the infirmary one more night, with monitors and instruments nearby, and then she could return to their regular bedroom, and finish convalescing there... if needed.

And now, they were all at dinner.

"I think it'll be another couple of days before you're one-hundred-per-cent," he said to her. "What do you reckon?"

"Feels about right," she said, popping a Kalamata olive into her mouth. "Although I suppose I'd have to have a look at my chart, to know for sure."

He chuckled. "Sorry, I didn't keep one."

"You rogue," she said, winking.

"How are you… you know, mentally?" Colin asked.

"I'm fine," she said. "It was traumatic, but honestly, I've been through worse."

The Doctor sighed. "On my watch, of course."

"You've been through worse," Colin said, evenly, though Martha knew him well, and she could see him trying to hold onto his anxiety over this fact. He'd seen a good bit of this mad old life, and she reckoned he'd been able to see why it was worth doing. Though, Colin was, at the end of the day, used to being protective of her, and old habits die hard.

"Of course," she agreed. "But it's not like I didn't volunteer for it."

"Still…" the Doctor began.

"Don't do this to yourself, Doctor," she scolded. "We all know what this life is like, and we stick with it anyway. We're your companions… we stick with _you_. Well, Colin's sticking with Donna, actually. But Donna's sticking with you, so, vicariously…"

Even Colin chuckled at that.

"Maybe so, but, even considering…" the Doctor sighed. "Even considering that you love me, you signed up for the danger, you want to be by my side…"

"Yeah?"

"Even _with_ all that," he continued. "It seems extreme this time."

"Are you _trying_ to make it worse for me?" she asked.

"No!" he said. His face registered surprise, and an 'oh!' expression. "God, no!"

"Relax," she said. "You couldn't make it worse – _you_ could only make it easier to live with. But quit dwelling on it."

"Sorry," he muttered

She addressed all three of them. "Yes, I was tortured. It was painful and humiliating… for maybe an hour. But are you forgetting what the Master put me through?"

"No, I am not forgetting," the Doctor said.

"I don't know that story," Colin said, expectantly.

"Let's just say, the torture was for more than an hour. And in 1913, cooped up for three months… John Smith's _literal_ servant. Listening to racial slurs from the schoolchildren day after day was my favourite bit."

"What?" Donna and Colin asked, in unison.

"I haven't forgotten that either," the Doctor assured her.

"I'm just saying… this wasn't that bad. You don't need to self-flagellate over this, okay?"

"Okay," he said.

To Donna and Colin, Martha said, "Has he told you what he did for me during the torture?"

"We had him in the TARDIS, trying to get her good and riled again, so she could get us out of there," Donna said. "could he do from there?"

"He got inside my mind, and was taking me away from the pain, and lulling me," she explained, taking the Doctor's hand.

"How does that work?" Colin asked.

"It's a telepathic thing…" Donna whispered. "Time Lord, companion, close relationship… psychic links. Don't ask."

The Doctor sighed. "I did my best."

"And it was a huge factor in keeping me sane, keeping me whole," Martha said. "Just when I wondered where the hell you were… there you were. Like always. Holding onto me, getting me through it."

Donna took a sip of wine, then chuckled. "It's funny. Back in Mallorca, when we were talking about how to 'traumatise' you enough to flush out that alien, we were sort of wringing our hands over how the hell we were going to jar you hard enough to actually ring your bell a bit, considering what you'd already been through."

"Wait, I haven't heard that story either," Colin said.

The Doctor cleared his throat pointedly, and said to Martha, "Anyway. You're through the woods now. And if anything else comes up, we'll get you through it."

"Yeah, you know, speaking of getting me through the woods," she said, with her hand pressed against her stomach. "You did a spectacular job patching me up."

"Thanks."

"No, seriously… I should have had, like, third-degree burns on my abdomen," she exclaimed, now looking down the neck of her gown. "But there are no marks on me. Nor are there any marks on my thighs. I was slashed up pretty bad, Doctor."

"You were."

She looked at him suspiciously. "So how'd you do it?"

"Martha…"

"I told you she'd ask," Donna muttered.

"And I didn't argue with you," the Doctor muttered back.

"Come on," she said. "If you don't tell me, Donna will."

He pulled his hand down over his face. "Do we have to do this now?"

"Call it a professional curiosity," Martha pressed. "I'm an A&E physician – I want to know! It's only been three days. I reckon you pumped my stomach for the beta blocker, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"And maybe some very exciting defibrillator action?"

"Yeah. And also some other stuff to treat you for the alien substances that had been put in your body… though you should be detoxed by now. Except, well, your liver is damaged."

"Okay, I can live with that… mostly because it will eventually heal itself, and I can understand it. But what did you do with my burns? My cuts and scrapes and bruises?"

"Can I not just enjoy having you back? Please?"

"He cheated," Donna said.

"Donna…" the Doctor began.

"Excuse me?" Martha asked.

"He cut open his own hand and this golden light started swirling around it…" Donna continued

"He did not," Martha breathed.

"Wait…" Colin tried.

"He did," Donna confirmed.

Martha turned to the Doctor. "You used your regenerative energy to heal me?"

He looked at her wearily. "You know I'd have used any trick in my kit to take your pain away."

"Well… did you, like, have to give up a regeneration or something?" she asked him, incredulous.

"No," he assured her.

"Really?"

"Really," he said. "I'd have done that, too, if necessary… but no. _That_ would have been a lot more involved. If I'd pulled you back from the brink of certain death, then maybe. And also, I couldn't have just _decided_ to use my own energy for that, I'd have to engage the… you know what? Just… no. I didn't have to give up anything for this. There is no loser here – just four winners, because you're awake, lucid, moving about, and the three of us get to enjoy you."

"I have to admit," Donna said. "It was pretty spectacular."

"I'm so confused," Colin groaned.

"The Doctor comes from a race of people who can regenerate their entire bodies," Martha said. "When he's about to die, he can engage this process, and as I understand it, he gets surrounded by glowing gold dust, and every cell in his body transforms."

Colin's eyes were wide. "Into what?"

"Into a new person," the Doctor said. "Same brain, same soul, but new body, new face, new voice, new personality."

"That's mental!" Colin exclaimed. "Okay, okay… I can see that we're off-topic here. But can we schedule a debriefing session soon, in which I ask all of the billion questions – half of which have arisen just in the last five minutes – and you lot answer them, bring me up to speed?"

The Doctor chuckled. "Yes. Count on it. Tomorrow night, if you'd like."

"Wonderful," Colin said, sitting back in his chair, with arms crossed. "Carry on."

There was a long lull. Finally, Martha said, "This has _got_ to be wrong somehow."

"That's what I thought," Donna told her. "But he said the Time Lords got you into that jam, and they can bloody well get you out. It was hard to argue with that."

Martha looked at the Doctor, and he shrugged, as if to say, "Yeah, that's pretty much it."

She sighed. "Part of me wants to be appalled…"

Donna interrupted. "But part of you knows that _because_ it was slightly morally questionable, and a total cheat, and it's the Doctor, who really tries hard to keep a moral compass about him, and it's energy that came _from him,_ that makes it an act of love, and you want to thank him… probably by doing things that you'll never tell me about?"

Martha laughed. "Yeah."

"Wow," Colin muttered, clearing his throat.

"I know. I have the same conflict. Only without that naughty bit at the end," Donna declared.

"Do you know what it does for me?" the Doctor asked, suddenly very focused.

"Uh-oh," Martha said. "What?"

"It makes me realise that this little _cheat_ might be the key to taking down Rabic," he said. "It makes me feel like if I'd done things the old-fashioned way, he'd never get his comeuppance."

"I was just about to ask what happened to him," Martha told him.

"Well," Colin interjected. "When he screamed at you to shut up, and then hit you, we all heard it through the tannoy, and the Doctor said he'd have Rabic's fucking head on a platter. But that hasn't happened yet..."

"Oh," Martha said, looking at the Doctor with a bit of trepidation. "Oh, God. What have you got on your mind?"

"We've got Martha through the worst..." the Doctor mused.

"Yeah, so what happens now? Is this the part where we get his fucking head on a platter?" asked Colin.

"Not literally," Donna answered. "The Doctor, at his best, is more about poetic justice than swift and blinding violence. Aren't you, Doctor?"

"Yeah."

"Seriously," she warned him. "Tell us what you've got planned, because I won't let you go in for some fire-and-brimstone revenge scenario, and you know I'm not bluffing. It's why you keep me around, remember?"

"I remember," the Doctor said, still focused, wide-eyed. "It's not fire and brimstone. If I know despotic leaders – and I do know despotic leaders – he'll be grandstanding for quite a while now. It'll be easy to get poetic justice, as you called it. And it's going to take all four of us. Donna and Colin, you first."

* * *

Four hours later, Donna and Colin walked back into the TARDIS from having been on the outside for a bit.

"Well?" the Doctor asked, from his perch on one of the railings that surrounded the console platform.

"It's as bad as you thought," Donna said, pulling the door shut, and locking it.

"It's four days later, and they're _still_ celebrating," Colin complained.

The two of them had just been at a veritable _ball,_ commemorating the end of the Time Lords, the TARDISes, and their accomplices.

"What was it like?" Martha asked. She sat on the lone navigator's stool in the console room, against the Doctor's advice that she have a kip.

"They're all still in the arena, and there's music and dancing," Donna said. "And there's a screen above the stage, showing the moment when Martha supposedly died, and the moment when the TARDIS was rushed by the guards, over and over again, on a loop. I've never liked seeing myself on film, and I've got to say, this hasn't helped."

She shuddered a bit, at the memory of watching herself "kill" Martha again and again. It was horrid, even though she knew it was fake, and Martha was fine.

"What a lovely little planet this is," Martha chirped, sarcastically.

"Between songs, occasionally, they play an audio of Rabic torturing you and taunting the Doctor, to remind the crowd that he was in the complex somewhere listening, and having a heart-attack over the whole thing," Colin reported, rolling his eyes. He asked the Doctor, "Do they think your dead body is in that building somewhere, and they just haven't found it?"

The Doctor shrugged. "Maybe. Who knows what they're telling themselves?"

"Well, the official narrative is that a Sercatonian officer – that would be me – carried Martha Jones' lifeless body out to the TARDIS to be destroyed along with it," Colin answered. "When we dematerialised, it was a result of some sort of Sercatonian technology, that killed it, and disintegrated Martha's body."

Martha scrunched up her nose. "And people are buying that rubbish?"

"Apparently," her cousin responded. "Because they're dancing about like it's bloody 1999."

"It's a power show," the Doctor said. "This whole execution thing was set up to show off the supremacy of Sercaton. It's a sector of the universe that never got on with the Time Lords, and they reckoned if they could be the ones to take the last of us down, they could reign over, well… this corner of existence."

"Could've been a solid plan, as megalomaniacal schemes go, except they didn't fully realise who they were dealing with, did they?" Donna asked.

"Does Rabic believe it?" Martha asked the Doctor. "Or is this just the load of rubbish he's feeding the masses?"

"My guess? Rabic doesn't know what the hell happened," the Doctor answered. "And he's agitated and confused."

"So now, without our intervention, Sercaton gets to be the boss of this part of the universe?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. "Which is why we're intervening. All right, Donna, Colin… next stop, the capitol city. We're going to need the Rebel Alliance if we're going to bring down Darth Vader."

* * *

 **One more chapter to go, friends! Hopefully I can get it posted in the next few days... in the meantime, let me know what you're thinking!**


	21. Epilogue: The Judge's Accomplices

**Okay, my friends, this is the conclusion of "Hearts of Calm." This story became something different than what I had envisioned when it began... that seems to happen to me with almost every story I write! I also think this is the end of this little "series," which is kind of a hard pill to swallow, since I'd like to do more with Colin and Donna. But I think it's time to move on. :-)**

 **I hope you like this chapter - I hope you feel like the "poetic justice" the Doctor has in mind for Judge Rabic is appropriate. I felt this was just the sort of thing that would drive him properly nuts, foiling his plans and whatnot. He is interested in power, and well,the Doctor has a way of cutting his type down to size.**

 **If you'll recall, the Doctor had declared at the end of the previous chapter, "We're going to need the Rebel Alliance if we're going to take down Darth Vader." Well, it might seem out of left field to you, but in my head, the "rebel alliance" has always existed in this story (as it does whenever there's an oppressive regime), out there somewhere, squelched, waiting for any chance. So, sorry if it seems a little random... but don't worry, they won't become the centerpiece of the chapter or anything.**

 **So, please enjoy!**

* * *

EPILOGUE: THE JUDGE'S ACCOMPLICES

Judge Rabic sat on a throne-like chair on the stage of the arena, watching the celebration unfold before him. He was very near the spot where he'd stood, torching and blistering Martha Jones' flesh, and watching others slash at her, pierce her skin, beat, and ultimately, drown her. It was the scene of his triumph, such as it was, even though he'd not fully been able to deliver the Doctor's demise to the droves who'd flocked to Sercaton to witness his execution. Miraculously, though, he'd been able to orchestrate the spectacle of Martha Jones' death, and TARDIS had been caught disappearing. With a little political tweaking of the story, that was enough. He wished that he knew what had really happened to the TARDIS, and he wished they could find the Doctor's body so they could display it, but he took comfort in the mechanics of the planet. The heartrate regulation practically guaranteed that the Doctor was dead somewhere within the complex, and everyone knew it.

The revels had now gone on for four days, which, in his mind, secured Sercaton's supremacy. He would allow the party to continue through the rest of the week, and then he would begin the business of ruling. First things first: a Sercatonian Guard presence on every planet in the galaxy, as well as an engineering team, who could install a Rhythmistis room on each planet, as well. This would be met with resistance, of course, but if they could get it done quickly and clandestinely enough, then any protests or uprisings would soon be quelled by the regulation of heartbeats. Thinking about it made him feel a bit better about the fact that his triumph over the Time Lord hadn't been as glorious as he would have liked.

He was lost in thought as he heard the gears grinding, and felt the breeze. He stood up, as horrifyingly, the TARDIS appeared before his eyes.

Fortunately, the music was loud enough that no-one really noticed… but that was short lived.

* * *

The Doctor sauntered out of the TARDIS, and very coolly aimed the sonic screwdriver at the screen, pausing the image of Martha being taken down off the breaking wheel, having been tortured to "death" by Rabic and others. People began to notice then, and stare at the stage. The Doctor then scanned the area to find the source of the music. In short order, he killed that, as well.

And that was when _everyone_ looked in his direction.

"Hello, everyone!" he hollered to the crowd, genially. "Wish I could say it was good to see you again, but it's really, really not!"

The crowd tittered.

"In case you didn't know, I'm the Doctor," he said. "I'm a Time Lord – last of, as a matter of fact. And as you can see, I am very much alive!"

"How… how…" Rabic said, looking at the Doctor through goggles. It was impossible to tell what sort of expression he had on his face, but the Doctor reckoned _surprised_. Then he stood up to his full height, gathered himself, and for the sake of the crowd, said, "What Time Lord trickery is this?"

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Come on, Rabic," he said, feigning annoyance. "The gig is up. This is what you get for not giving me my due."

"Not giving you… wha… what are you on about?" Rabic asked.

"Half up-front, and the rest when the job was done," the Doctor shrugged. "That's what you said. You haven't delivered. So here I am. I came to collect."

"You're insane! And you ought to be dead!" Rabic spat.

"You're right, I'm meant to be dead, as far as this lot is concerned," the Doctor said. "And I did my bit. So what gives, you old miser?"

"You're talking nonsense. I reign supreme here – you are nothing."

"Oh, very intimidating – bravo." To the masses, the Doctor said, "He's going to be your leader? He's going to look after you? Well, watch out – he's tricky. He wants so badly to be supremey-pants of this part of the universe, he'll even kill. But when he can't manage that… well, did he tell you I died? Me and my TARDIS? You can clearly see that's not true. I don't think I have to get any more explicit about how that came about, do I?"

"This is ridiculous," the Judge said to the crowd, as a hiss of disappointment rippled through. He tried to sound calm, congenial, but he was failing. He pointed at the screen. "You know what you saw – you all do! You were here! _You saw her die!"_

"Saw who die? Martha Jones? Interesting," the Doctor commented. He walked back over to the TARDIS, and opened the door. "Martha, would you like to join me, love?"

Martha stepped out of the TARDIS, and smiled. "Oh, hi, everyone," she said, cheerily waving. "Judge Rabic, good to see you. Sorry – I haven't been paying attention… so, are you going to pay us or not?"

Rabic began about sixteen sentences in the next five seconds, none of them coherent, and none of them formed words. He wound up sputtering something about _nonsense_ and _treachery._

The masses now were properly confused and angry. "What the hell is this, Rabic?" one man down front shouted quite clearly.

"Oh, sorry, did you think I was being tortured? Burned, slashed, et cetera, et cetera?" Martha asked the man directly. "Did you see all those times when the good judge blasted my abdomen with blazing, roasting heat? Sorry to disappoint you – the fire was holographic."

With that, she pulled her shirt up, just far enough that everyone could see that her stomach was as brown and smooth as ever, and untouched by blisters or open skin of any kind.

"I'd show you how the tops of my thighs are also unscathed, but I'd have to undress," she said, matter-of-factly. "I'm a good actress, though, eh?"

"If you'd like, I can show you the trail of money that leads from Rabic to the people who supposedly bought Partitive Passes," the Doctor offered. "I can offer you proof that he paid them off, to fake the torture."

The crowd gasped as Donna stepped out of the TARDIS, and waved. The crowd had been watching her "kill" Martha on a loop for four days - they knew exactly who she was.

"Those passes were legitimate!" Rabic screamed. "You treacherous Doctor!"

"As legitimate as her death," Donna said to him, with a mixture of disbelief and amusement.

"They were difficult to get, and so expensive, no-one _normal_ could afford them!" someone in the crowd shouted.

"Indeed," said the Doctor. "And none of you ever bothered to wonder why?"

"Where are the other pass-holders?" the man down front shouted at the crowd. "Stop them leaving the arena!"

"None of this is true! The Doctor and Martha Jones, and the TARDIS, were captured, fair and square! Their execution was arranged, torture devices were prepared and… and…"

By now, the crowd was spitting so loudly, the Judge's voice could not be heard.

Rabic gave up, and called for some guards. Martha and the Doctor could both plainly see guards beginning to gather, but they looked stunned, and were not in a stance to attack. They spoke to each other now, did not do as Rabic asked, and their body language suggested shock and frustration.

The Doctor pointed at all of them and said, "You didn't tell even your own men about our little arrangement, did you, Judge? They thought you really planned on killing us. Because from the looks of things, they're feeling pretty betrayed. You lied to them, your own men, just like you lied to the rest of the universe. Blimey, I don't envy you now, mate."

The revelers were finished. They didn't know the whole story, clearly, including who the guard was who'd taken Martha Jones down from the breaking wheel and carried her out to the TARDIS… but it didn't matter. The Doctor, Martha Jones, and the TARDIS were alive. What they came here for was a total loss, and it looked to be because Rabic had a pair of accomplices willing to fake their own deaths, for a price. Some were leaving the arena muttering at one another, others were now coming up onto the stage, presumably, to ask Rabic to answer for himself. Still others seemed to be combing the crowd, and forming little inquisitorial bands.

The Doctor made eye-contact with the Judge, across the circle of people now surrounding them. He closed the space between them, and said, very softly, "Judge not, lest ye be judged."

"I… I thought you were merciful. I thought you gave people chances!" Rabic said, as a group of angry revelers overtook him.

The Doctor pushed through to him, got very close, and said, "Okay, this is your chance. Go ahead… tell them the truth. Tell them I escaped from my cell and you lost me in the complex, and then my friends and I outwitted you and your entire guard, and escaped harm completely. Tell them how incompetent you and your staff are. That would be the only honourable thing to do. Then, maybe I'll help you out of this."

"I can't do that!"

"Didn't think so," the Doctor said. He was eerily calm when he added, "In that case, this is only the beginning of the chaos that will knock at your door, Rabic."

"Doctor…"

The Time Lord narrowed his eyes, and growled, "Try to mess me and mine again. I dare you."

"Don't leave me here… please, don't leave me! They'll smother me! They'll…" Rabic begged.

"What? Strap you down and torture you with fire and blades and needles and hammers?" Martha asked, pointedly. "Don't worry, it's not that bad - they'll probably use holographic fire just like you did."

Then the Doctor took Martha's hand, and they disappeared into the TARDIS. It dematerialised, just as Rabic was getting swarmed.

* * *

"Think he'll survive the night?" Donna asked, as the Doctor whisked them away to a new locale.

"I think they'll want answers, before they'll want his death," he said. "I reckon he'll be a prisoner for a while, until… did you do the rest of your assignment?"

"I did," Colin answered, knowing the Doctor was speaking to him. "I told the rebel cell in the capitol city that the heartbeat regulation was lifted to two-hundred-twenty BPM. They're ready to storm the Congress' complex in the next few days."

"I thought you said the heartrate regulation was put in place to prevent rebellion," Martha said.

"It prevents uprisings, violent coups, and ultimately overthrows," the Doctor told her. "It doesn't prevent discontent. It doesn't prevent groups from forming."

"Apparently, they're all over the place, and they've been spinning their wheels for a long, long time, unable to act," Colin said.

"Ah, the seeds of revolution have been sown," the Doctor mused. "And you made sure they'll put him on trial rather than, say, guillotine him?"

Colin nodded. "Like you said, they want answers, and they want fairness. Not blood."

"But Rabic himself still has no idea the heartbeat thing has been recalibrated," Martha said. "So he won't order it undone. And he won't see any of it coming."

"No, but he _has_ all of it coming," the Doctor muttered.

"Amen," Donna agreed.

* * *

With Donna and Colin safely back in Portugal, complete with beta blockers for Donna's (temporary) condition, the Doctor and Martha sat on the sofa in her flat, empty Thai food containers littering the coffee table, watching a film they'd both seen at least ten times. They were zoned-out, and fine with that.

Of course, they had hit the sheets pretty much immediately as their friends left… in fact, they were lucky to make it as far as the sheets. They'd wanted to waste no more time in a Canadian lagoon, nor in a waterfall, nor in exhaustion, nor any sort of build-up. This time, they had _time_ on their side, and no TARDIS surrounding them with distractions and alarms. And with Martha healed – artificially, nor no – there was no holding back.

But now, adventure was on standby for the moment, their desires were sated, and it was time to settle in.

Perhaps for longer than they were currently planning.

He had seen her captured and attacked and threatened and tortured in two separate debacles in the past month… enough was enough. She deserved _life_. She deserved to have things, and people about, and… maybe even a mortgage, a steady job, and children.

But for now, they'd just call this another holiday, and they would lay low. And often. At least until Colin and Donna were ready to leave Portugal, then the whole group could reassess its priorities…

Martha fell asleep against his shoulder, and he adjusted himself, so that he was leaning comfortably back, and his arm was around her. He studied her face and thought about how she only had one life, and adventure takes many forms. Some of the most pressing adventures seemed mundane from the outside... he knew this from experience.

Of course, at present, he had no idea what she really wanted. He knew only that when he'd brought up this topic during their captivity on Sercaton, she had put off talking about it.

He sank into the cushions and draped his arms around her. "I guess we'll have to see. But me, I think I could do this for a long while," he thought, before drifting off to sleep himself.

* * *

 **Thank you so, so much for reading! Please leave me one last review to tell me what you thought... I will keep writing, if you'll keep reviewing!**


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